


A Family Ripped and Torn

by GreyJedi



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Backstory, Brothers, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gangsters, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 100,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyJedi/pseuds/GreyJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torn and Ripp have always been close, but when Torn begins his schooling at the academy of the Krimzon Guard, they begin to lose that closeness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> I have chosen not to use archive warnings on this fic, however, if anyone believes that there is any content requiring specific warning notifications, please feel free to let me know and I will add them to the chapter notes where they occur.

A group of people had congregated around the docks, awaiting the arrival of the airships. A young boy stood with his parents, blue eyes fixed on the sky, fidgeting impatiently. His mother laid hand on his shoulder, but he brushed it away. Then, he saw them, four red airships flying through the sky towards the crowd.

"Look! There they are! They're here!" he cried, pointing at the vehicles. A moment later, he'd taken off through the crowd, squirming between people as he struggled to reach the front.

* * *

Torn felt the familiar lurch as the airship began its decent and reached down to grab his pack from its place on the floor. Hefting the heavy bag in one hand, Torn rose, one hand braced against the wall of the airship.

"What are you  _doing_?" another boy asked. "You're not supposed to be standing when we land. It's dangerous!"

Torn rolled his eyes and walked, somewhat unsteadily, towards the window at the back of the airship. There wasn't much to see, just Haven's walls and the water of the port. Still, it was better than the boring interior of the transport. The airship shuddered once and Torn staggered, momentarily thrown off balance.

"See?" the other boy insisted. "It's not safe! Now sit down."

Sighing with resignation, Torn slipped back to his spot on the bench, purposely elbowing the boy in the ribs as he sat once more. He dropped his pack to the floor where it landed with a reverberating thump and used his legs to tuck it safely away under the bench again. He took a moment to look at the other nine occupants of the transport. They'd spent the last two months together at one of the Krimzon Guard training camps. Most of them he'd met before, during previous years, but there'd been a couple new faces this time out.

The camps were popular with slummer families because they were cheap; most parents sent their kids to them to get whipped into shape. It was a good deal for both parties, the KG could identify possible recruits at an early age, and the families had somewhere to send their children for the summer. Torn had started going when he was ten – four years ago.

He'd reached a conclusion this summer, but wasn't at all sure about how it would go over with his parents. He was going to enlist.

The engines of the airship slowed and the transport spun around, the view from the back window changing from one of the city wall to the group of people gathered on the port. The transport docked and, with a slight hiss, the back door swung down forming a ramp. Torn reached beneath his seat and yanked his pack out once more. He stood and slung the bag quickly over his shoulders, grunting slightly at the weight on his back. His eyes scanned quickly through the crowd as he reached the top of the ramp, searching for one particular figure. There. Squinting into the sun, one hand shielding his eyes was Ripp.

Torn's travelling companions were beginning to move, some of them heading down to the group of people ahead of him. He hung back a little, watching and waiting, pale eyes trained on his brother. The opening he'd been hoping for presented itself soon enough. Ripp turned and looked over his shoulder into the crowd of people, just for a moment. Torn picked that moment to strike. He darted down the ramp and seized Ripp in a headlock, ruffling his hair mercilessly.

"Hey, you little monster, how's it hangin'?"

Ripp let out a shocked squeal. "Torn, lemme go! Lemme go!" he cried, struggling against the headlock "Come on, no fair!"

Laughing, Torn released him and was almost immediately seized around the middle in a tight hug. He grinned and hugged his brother back. "I missed you, sport."

Ripp's only response was to cling tighter, arms squeezing Torn's sides, face pressed so hard against Torn's chest that it almost hurt.

"Ripp! There you are!" Both boys looked up at the sound of their mother's voice. The woman was gently pushing her way through the group of people, her husband in tow. "Don't you run off like that again, young man."

Torn held out a placating hand. "Mom, he's just a kid."

She huffed at that statement, crossing her arms under her breasts. "All the more reason to keep him supervised. Ripp's too young to go running off through crowds like that. What if someone had kidnapped him?"

"And what a shame  _that_  would've been," Torn's father said, tone half sarcastic. "Torn's right, Juska. Besides, Ripp's fine."

The woman sighed. "I suppose you're right, Simius." She sighed once more before looking at Torn. "How was it?"

Torn released Ripp and made a noncommittal hand flick. "Ah…y'know. Same old, same old. The instructors were hard-asses, the food was terrible and the guys I was rooming with wouldn't shut up." He laughed dryly at the look on his mother's face. "I'm kidding, Mom. It was great." He grinned. "Erol hurt himself this year. It was hilarious. He tripped over this log and sprained his ankle. You should've seen the look on his face. It was priceless." He broke of as he noticed Juska watching him. "What?"

She held her arms out. "I believe you owe me something."

Torn sighed melodramatically. "Oh fine." And he stepped forward to embrace his mother. When he broke away he was almost immediately caught around the shoulders in a hug from his father. "Hey, Dad." He slung his arm similarly around his father's shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. It was then that he noticed the way his mother was looking at him. "Mom, what?"

Her expression was appraising. "You've grown," she said, "quite a lot too."

"Oh. Well if that's all…" Torn rolled his eyes. The way she'd been looking at him, anyone would have thought that he'd sprouted an extra head over the summer. He looked around; the crowd already seemed to be thinning as families left. "We're not going to hang around here all day, are we? I'm kinda ready to go home."

Simius and Juska exchanged looks.

"What? I am." Torn paused and looked at Ripp, catching him by the back of the shirt so he could give his hair another furious ruffling. "I need to make sure that the little terror here hasn't gone messing around with my stuff."

Ripp turned around and stuck his tongue out at Torn. "I didn't touch your stupid stuff. It's probably all dusty and gross now cause no one's touched it in so long and you're not around to clean it."

Torn smirked and gave the seven-year-old a gentle punch in the shoulder. "Well, one thing certainly hasn't changed while I've been gone."

"What?" Ripp asked.

"You're still a terrible liar."

Ripp pouted. An action which earned him further hair mussing, which, in turn, only led to an even sulkier look. Torn looked at his parents rather hopefully.

"So we can go now, right?"

Simius chuckled. "Yes, we certainly can. I can take your bag, if you-"

"Thanks but I've got it," Torn interrupted quickly. The last thing he wanted was his father commenting on the weight and asking awkward follow-up questions about the contents of his pack. He wasn't sure how to answer them yet. He also hadn't come up with a good way to tell his parents about his interest in enlisting in the KG; Simius would likely be all for it, but Juska… Torn shuddered to think what her reaction would be, but that would be a bridge he'd cross later. There were other things to worry about first.

* * *

When the family got home, the brothers headed straight up to Torn's room, Ripp taking a seat on the bed while Torn closed the door behind him. The teen flicked the lights on, then seemed to change his mind and flipped the switch off once more. He slipped his pack off, holding it in one hand as he walked to the middle of his room. He set his bag slowly on the floor, taking care not to make it rattle or thump too loudly and attract the attention of his parents. Torn shook his hand a couple times after he set the bag down, grimacing.

"Damn that's heavy." He dropped to the floor, motioning for Ripp to join him. "C'mere. I've got something cool to show you."

Ripp was quick enough to hop off the bed and take up a seat on the floor. He leaned forward expectantly, looking at Torn.

"You've got to promise not to tell though, alright? It's a secret. For the moment."

Ripp nodded enthusiastically. "I promise. On my honour. And if I ever tell, may I be eaten by a crocadog and my remains burned in the Precursor fires of creation. May a metalhead stomp upon the ashes and-" His oath was broken by Torn leaning forward and flicking him in the forehead.

"Enough. You promised. Good enough for me. Besides, temporary secrets don't need oaths." He couldn't help laughing at the disappointed look on Ripp's face, then he grinned and raised a finger to his lips. "Quiet, okay?"

Ripp clapped both hands over his mouth and nodded. Torn merely rolled his eyes and reached for his bag. He dragged it closer and hunted around for the pull tab on the zipper for a moment. That done, Torn opened the bag, grinning.

There was a little bit of light coming in through his curtains, but otherwise Torn's room was barely lit, allowing the strange yellow glow coming from his bag to be easily seen. Nestled neatly inside his backpack were forty-seven metalhead skull gems. A gasp whistled in between Ripp's fingers.

"What are they?" he breathed.

Torn reached into the bag and withdrew one of the gems. "Metalhead skull gems. These babies just  _pop_  out when a metalhead dies. Here, hold out your hands."

Ripp obediently offered Torn his hands, palm up. His small fingers curled around the gem and his arms sagged slightly under the weight of the jewel. " _Cool_."

"I know, right? And they're valuable too. Good thing or I'd probably never be able to get into the academy."

Ripp nearly dropped the skull gem. "What? But what about med school?"

Torn shrugged. "I changed my mind." He reached out to take the gem away from Ripp, who sighed in disappointment. "Sorry, kiddo, but you can't keep it. I'm going to need them. However…" Torn began feeling the other pockets on his backpack before choosing one to unzip. " _This_  you do get to keep." He withdrew something and pressed it into Ripp's still outstretched hands.

Ripp picked it up, wrinkling his nose. "Is this a necklace?" he asked in a flat voice as he examined the present. It was a light grey fang attached to a silver chain. Torn looked sheepish and reached out to ruffle Ripp's hair. Ripp yelped and batted his brother's hands away. "Quit it! Why do you keep  _doing_  that?"

"Because I haven't been able to do it all summer. Obviously." He made a face like he was trying very hard to be serious and failing. "Don't make that face at your present. That's a _manly_  piece of jewelry."

Ripp let out a snort of laughter. "But it's a necklace!" He grinned and lifted up the fang to better examine it. "What kind of tooth is this anyway?"

"Metalhead canine from a grunt. It's from the first one I killed."

" _What_?" Ripp's eyes were wide; his was voice little more than an awed whisper.

Torn nodded grimly. "There were a lot in the area this year. It was bad. You remember when I was telling Mom about Erol?" He waited for Ripp's nod before continuing. "Yeah, at the time, it really wasn't that funny. We were doing one of those stupid navigation race things. It was an overnight one. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Ripp nodded. "That thing where you're in pairs and you have to try and get to a certain spot before the other groups. Right?"

It was Torn's turn to nod. "Yeah. That. Anyway," he stretched and winced slightly, hand going to his right shoulder, "This one was a supposed to take us a couple days, so there was some overnight stuff. It must've been about one in the morning, I was on watch for the second time; it was Erol's turn to sleep. And then that thing found us."

Ripp was leaning forward; eyes fixed upon his brother, the white of his teeth just visible where he was biting his lip, his hands unconsciously clenched around the necklace he still held.

"I woke Erol up and we ran like hell, friggin' heavy packs and everything. And then he tripped. And it was one of the scariest moments of my life. He was reaching for his pistol, foot trapped by the log, and he was screaming… And that thing kept coming, charging towards us, its eyes and gem glowing like Mar forsaken beacons in that damn dark forest." Torn paused and shuddered. "I nearly let it have him."

Ripp gasped. His hands had gone white and were shaking slightly as he stared at Torn, a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity in his eyes. "And then what happened…?"

"I turned to run. But I couldn't do it. Not when he was screaming like that. So I grabbed my own pistol and fired. I missed. Three times. My hands were shaking so bad. Then I finally hit it. I emptied the rest of my clip before I decided it was really dead." Torn sighed. "So then I pulled the gem out and took that fang. And then we ran. And we didn't stop for anything. I had Erol's pack on top of mine and I barely felt it. He didn't even realize that his ankle hurt until after we got back. It wasn't funny at the time, but since we were both okay, we could look back on it and laugh…"

The younger boy was awestruck. He stared at the necklace in his hands. And then, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, he said, "But that was only one…"

"Yeah, it was. A few days later they ambushed the camp. Don't ever let anyone tell you that metalheads are mindless monsters. Cause they're not. I was terrified. But I kept shooting. And then one bit me. I thought I was going to die right there. I was so… All I could think about was you, and Mom, and Dad, and how I  _couldn't_  die there." He gave his head a shake. "Since then, I've been thinking. I didn't like it, but it felt right. What I was doing, it was getting easier… there was less hesitation. I was still scared out of my mind, but I knew what to do. And I think that's a big part of what being in the Krimzon Guard's about. Not being fearless, but knowing what to do through that fear. I think it's where I belong."

Ripp stared at him. His lower lip quivered and his hands still shook. His nostrils flared as he tried to regain some semblance of control over his breathing. Torn sighed and held out his arms.

"C'mere, kiddo."

Ripp practically leapt into his lap, burying his face in Torn's shoulder. His small hands grabbed fistfuls of Torn's long hair as his arms encircled the teen's neck. Torn simply held the boy, cheek resting against Ripp's head.

They stayed that way for a while before Ripp suddenly straightened up and Torn was surprised to note that there were no tear tracks on his cheeks. It seemed that a thought had just occurred to Ripp.

"Where'd you get bit?"

Torn laughed and disentangled himself from his brother, pulling the right sleeve of his shirt up so his bicep was visible. There were long puckered red marks on the skin there and it didn't look at all like a proper bite mark. "It barely grazed me. Nearly healed now. The councilor who patched me up said the scars should fade away pretty fast; they'll be gone by the time I'm twenty."

Ripp nodded absently. "So… You're sure you want to join the guard?"

"Yeah. And look on the bright side," Torn said giving Ripp's hair yet another affectionate ruffling, "You can use that med school fund Mom and Dad have set up, if you keep going the way you are, you'll probably make better use of it than I would. Besides, all those summers at the camp can be put towards my tuition, and with the gems… I should be pretty well covered."

Again, Ripp nodded. He slid his arms from around Torn's neck and looked at the necklace, still clutched in his hand.

"See? Everything's going to work out fine." Torn smiled and gently pried Ripp's hand open, taking the necklace. "Here, let's see how this looks on you." Without waiting for permission, he reached around Ripp's neck and, after fumbling with the clasp for a moment, had it securely fastened. "What do you think?"

Ripp took the fang in his hand and examined it. "I think I like it."

* * *

That night at dinner, Torn picked at his food, despite his hunger. He was still figuring out how to mention his changed career path. It wasn't something he could put off for too long. His answers to his parents' probing questions were monosyllabic and usually preceded by a surprised "What?"

"Torn, is something wrong?" Juska asked, noticing the way he was watching his half eaten steak.

"Mm? What? Oh. Just thinking," he replied, not bothering to look up.

"Haven't you ever heard of multitasking, Torn? You can eat and think at the same time," Simius chided, reaching across the table for a second helping of salad.

"Leave him alone, he's got a lot on his mind," Ripp piped up. He was quickly silenced by a pointed look from his father and grabbed his glass of milk, cowering slightly.

Abruptly, Torn threw his fork down, sending it clattering to his plate to join his half eaten dinner. He stood, his chair screeching against the floor. His jaw was set, eyes determined.

"I'm going to join the Krimzon Guard," he announced, folding his arms over his chest, daring his parents to argue the point. For a moment, the kitchen was dead silent.

Simius spoke first, just ahead of his wife. "Wonderful! That's my boy!"

Juska's horrified cry, however, nearly drowned out his words. "Absolutely not! I won't stand for it.

Simius grimaced, enthusiasm suddenly culled. "Torn, as proud as I would be to have my son in the guard, we need to think realistically here. We don't have the kind of money to put you in the academy. We can't just use your med school fund because you've changed your mind for the moment."

Torn nodded. He'd anticipated this. As slummers they were fairly well off, but they were still slummers, barely above Haven's poverty line. The reality of their financial situation was one that he was all too familiar with. He cringed inwardly, thinking of how bad things had been before – when Ripp had been born.

Juska's already weak immune system had begun to fail her shortly before giving birth to Ripp, forcing her to quit her job. The loss of Juska's income had put a strain on everything and her health had continued to decline. There had been the hope that once Ripp was born, she would begin to get better, but she didn't. The medication she'd needed had been expensive, throwing the family far behind on rent. They'd barely avoided eviction. Simius had worked day and night; Juska had been in and out of the hospital, leaving Torn alone as the infant Ripp's caregiver.

Torn had nearly had to leave second grade as he struggled with the sudden burden of parental responsibility. He couldn't go to class, instead he relied on Erol to bring his schoolwork and explain the new information that had been covered in class. On weekends Erol would drop by to relieve Torn and give him a chance to do anything from catching up on sleep to running quick errands.

The memories of that time still haunted Torn. He had no desire to send his family back to that. Ever. He'd have to show the ace up his sleeve or risk losing his chance of ever going to the academy.

"I can pay for some of it. Most of it. Maybe even all of it."

Simius snorted. "Torn, do you have  _any_  idea how expensive a private school like the academy is?" His words were reinforced by Juska's emphatic nodding. "There's no way you've got enough to pay for it."

Near silently, unnoticed by his parents, Ripp slipped off his chair and crept out of the kitchen. When he returned moments later he had one of Torn's skull gems clutched in his hands. This, he lay in the middle of the table before taking his seat once more.

Torn's hand met his forehead while his parents gaped open mouthed at the item that now lay in the middle of their kitchen table. Torn winked once at Ripp, to ensure that the younger boy knew that he wasn't mad at him, as he waited for his parents to digest the sight before them. He allowed them a couple minutes before he decided to speak.

"I don't just mean to pay with one; I've got a whole load more upstairs." He paused, then added, "Think they'd accept straight gems, or would it be better to take them to a jeweler first?"

Simius turned his granite eyes upon Torn, as though he were only just seeing him properly. "You have more of these?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but Juska cut him off. She stood, slamming a hand to the tabletop. "I don't care how many he has! He's not going! I won't allow it! My son is  _not_ going to become some expendable military dog to follow our ruler's every whim!"

Torn scowled, his eyebrows drawing together in the middle. "It's my choice, dammit! This is the only part of my life I get to control, don't you dare try to tell me what I can and cannot do with it!"

"Why you-" That was as far as Juska got. Colour drained from her face and she started to shake before she collapsed back into her chair. A horrified Torn clapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide.

"Ripp, Torn, out!" Simius bellowed at his sons. Ripp had bolted in an instant. Torn lingered for a moment, taking longer to leave the kitchen, he watched over his shoulder as Simius hovered nervously over Juska's pale form.

He bit his lip as he left, following Ripp to his brother's room. He should've known better than to get his mother riled up. He  _did_  know better… Pushing the door to Ripp's room open wider, Torn slipped inside.

Ripp jumped off his bed and hastily grabbed a red-stained shirt from its spot on the floor and tossed it into his laundry hamper. Torn didn't pay this action any attention. He dropped to the floor, back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest.

"Oh, I've killed her," Torn groaned. "I'm such an idiot…"

"No you're not," Ripp said.

Torn stared up at the ceiling, shaking his head slightly. "She's gonna get sick again. And it's gonna be my fault this time."

He was slightly surprised when Ripp burrowed against him, pressing up close. One of his small hands found its way into Torn's, squeezing slightly. His gaze was unfocused and when he spoke his voice was soft. "It won't be your fault. It'll be hers for overreacting."

Torn opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and watched his little brother for a moment. He tugged his hand out of Ripp's and stretched out his legs, pulling Ripp into his lap.

"Who said you were allowed to get so mature?"

Ripp laid his head against Torn's chest, running a finger along the collar of his brother's shirt. He shrugged once. "No one. But someone's got to tell you not to worry and stuff… And I can do that. So don't worry."

Torn let out a wry laugh. "I wish it was that easy, Ripp. I really do. You're too little to remember, but… Every time Mom needs medicine, I get scared that we'll wind up like we were before, like we were when you were born."

Ripp's hand worked its way to Torn's arm and gave it a squeeze. Torn looked down into Ripp's blue eyes, so like his own and gripped him in a tight embrace. He was shaking, and he knew Ripp could feel his trembling limbs, but he didn't care. He didn't know why he felt on the verge of tears, or why he'd suddenly hugged Ripp the way he did, all he knew was that it felt undeniably  _right_.


	2. Tattoos and Nightmares

It was getting late by the time Torn decided to chance a venture to the living room. Ripp had been in bed for a couple hours and by the sounds of what had transpired while Torn had been in his room, Juska hadn't been far behind. He hadn't decided if that was good sign or not. Still, it wouldn't hurt to find out.

For a moment he lurked near the entrance to the living room. Simius sat on the couch, unfolded newspaper held in front of him; Torn had the distinct impression that if he could see his father's face that the man would be scowling deeply. He usually did when he read the paper. He'd barely taken three steps into the room before the rustle of Simius's newspaper alerted him to the fact that he'd been noticed. He looked over and saw his father watching him.

"How's Mom?"

Simius set the paper aside, his eyes never leaving Torn. "She'll be alright."

Torn nodded. He gathered his hair together in one hand, holding it in a low ponytail at the base of his neck. "I didn't think she'd take it that badly." This comment earned him a grunt from Simius. He sighed, releasing his hair and sending it tumbling over his shoulders. "I'm still enlisting."

Simius's scowl deepened, but he didn't have time to protest.

"It's my choice," Torn said, with considerably more conviction than he felt. "You and Mom can't stop me."

"You're still a minor."

"I won't  _let_  you and Mom stop me." Torn crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know why  _you're_  against it. You've said yourself how proud you'd be to have a son in the Guard." He looked at his father. "I don't suppose there's  _any_  way that you'll let me have my way with this and then  _you_  deal with Mom."

Simius sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Torn."

"I mean, once it's over and done with, what can she really do anyway?"

"You're making this difficult."

Torn smirked. He could tell he nearly had it. "That's what I'm aiming for."

Again, Simius sighed. "Get up early tomorrow. We'll see if we can't register you."

The teenager saluted smartly, grinning. "Yes, sir. Thanks, Dad."

This earned a grunt in reply. Simius picked up his paper again and unfolded it to continue his reading. " _Early_ , Torn. Get to bed."

* * *

It didn't take Torn long to fall asleep once he'd gone to bed. It didn't seem like too long after this that he was awakened by a hand on his shoulder and someone softly calling his name. Groaning, Torn opened his eyes and rolled over. His room was enshrouded in darkness. Too early for morning then.

"Torn? Torn, are you awake?" Ripp asked hesitantly.

Moaning, Torn replied, "I am  _now_." He sat up and reached for his bedside lamp. "What time is it? What the hell do you want?" He found the switch and both he and Ripp flinched at the sudden light, blinking to adjust. Torn was first to recover. Once he could see again, he turned his attention to the clock on his wall. It was a little after two. He groaned again, wondering what Ripp could possibly want at this ungodly hour. " _What_?" he snapped, turning to look at the boy.

It was then that Ripp's appearance registered with Torn. He was white and quivering in place, a couple tears had spilled from his eyes and were making tracks on his cheeks.

"Oh, damn. Nightmares?"

Ripp made a little whimpering sound and nodded. Torn sighed and sat up further to make room for Ripp to sit on his bed. He patted the space in front of him, inviting Ripp to join him.

"Alright. C'mere." Ripp sat and just stared at Torn miserably. The teen shifted how he was sitting to wrap one arm around Ripp's shoulders. "Want to tell me about it?"

Ripp shook his head. "No…"

"You sure? It'll help."

Again, Ripp shook his head. "I don't remember much. It was just scary." He slid closer to Torn and hugged him tightly about his torso, resting his head on the teen's chest. Torn's fingers slid into his hair, second hand moving to rub Ripp's back.

"It was just a dream. It can't hurt you."

Ripp nuzzled further into Torn's chest, mumbling something that Torn decided to interpret as "I know."

"…ur arfs eeting," the boy muttered.

Torn gripped Ripp by the shoulders and gently pushed him away. "What? Did  _not_  catch that."

Now looking slightly embarrassed, Ripp said, "Your heart's beating."

For a moment Torn looked lost. He glanced down at his chest and then back at Ripp. "Well I'd hope so."

This drew a small smile from Ripp and Torn gave his hair a quick ruffle. "You want to go back to your room?" he asked. The smile vanished and Torn had his answer.

"No…" Ripp whimpered, "I wanna stay with you." He grabbed Torn's arm and hugged it to his chest, as though daring him to try and make him leave.

Torn shrugged. "I figured you'd say that."

They were silent for a few moments, then Torn was tugging his arm free and slipping off his bed. He dragged his pack out from the corner he'd stuffed it into and rummaged through its pockets, clearly searching for something. With a triumphant "Ha!" he removed a few items wrapped in vacuum sealed plastic. Nudging the pack back into the corner he returned to the bed and sat down again. He set two of the packages next to himself and tore open the third; it contained three strips of dried, smoked meat.

Torn stuck one of the pieces in his mouth before he noticed that Ripp was giving him a strange look.

"Vut? 'M 'ungry," Torn said, words distorted. Sighing, he pulled the meat back out of his mouth so he could talk. "I didn't get to finish dinner last night, c'mon, don't give me that look." Ripp's expression didn't change. " _And_  I'm growing. Stop judging me." With that, he stuffed the meat back into his mouth.

"But what is that?" Ripp asked.

"'Akaw 'erky," Torn mumbled before swallowing. Seeing that Ripp did not appear pleased with this garbled answer he repeated himself. "Yakow jerky. We got it at camp."

The younger boy leaned in closer looking at the jerky curiously. "Is it any good? What's it taste like?" he asked.

Torn rolled his eyes as he cast about for some way to describe the taste to his brother. "Ifs younifk," he said, not at all clearly around his second piece of jerky. He was quick to finish and, deciding that he'd rather not try to describe the taste, picked up the third piece of jerky from where it rested on his knee. "You know what? We'll do this the easy way." After trying, and failing, to tear the meat in half, Torn looked at it, shrugged, and bit it in two – something which required him to twist his head in one direction while wrenching his arm in the other.

Ripp cocked his head to the side. "Is that why it's called  _jerky_?"

The teen looked confused as he handed his brother his half of the jerky. "Is what why it's called jerky?"

Ripp mimicked the motion that Torn had made. "You had to jerk funny."

"I dunno. I doubt it." He selected his second pack of jerky and opened it while Ripp examined his snack sceptically. Barely glancing up, Torn said, "It's not going to kill you and if you're worried about my spit, I guarantee you've had worse."

A few minutes later, Torn had wolfed down what remained of his jerky as Ripp's opinion on the meat was "It's weird," and that, as far as Torn was concerned, meant he didn't want more.

Torn sat against the wall, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess that's kinda better."

"What is?"

He fixed Ripp with a deadpan look. "I'm still hungry." He grinned at Ripp's expression. "You will understand one day. When you're a teenager, you're hungry  _all the time_. It's a pain in the ass."

Ripp laughed once and then attempted to stifle what turned into a massive yawn. He gave his head a shake that put him off balance and he flopped down next to Torn. The older boy smiled gently and gave Ripp's hair an affectionate ruffle.

"Back to your room? Or are you staying here?"

The boy grabbed sleepily at Torn's hand. "With you."

"Alright. I can't promise that I'll be here when you wake up, okay? Dad's taking me to the academy tomorrow. So I've got to be up early." He waited for Ripp to nod. Whether the younger boy actually comprehended what he'd just been told would remain to be determined, but it wasn't all that important.

Torn lay down on his side, leaving enough room for Ripp to join him. Once Ripp was curled up close, Torn slipped an arm around his shoulders, holding him. "You know you can talk to me about anything, any time, right?" he asked softly.

"Mhm."

"Good." Torn sat up slightly to turn off the light and couldn't  _quite_  hide a smile at the sight of Ripp cuddled up as he was. Lying back down, Torn pulled Ripp closer and, in a rare gesture of affection, planted a kiss on the boy's forehead. He reached down to pull the covers up and adjust them before properly settling down for the night.

It was only a few minutes before the brothers were fast asleep.

* * *

Torn was startled awake by something brushing against his neck and shot up in bed, reaching for a weapon that was no longer there. After a moment of reorientation he realized that he was in his room and he had, in fact, been woken by the still sleeping Ripp burrowing closer. He almost lay down again to allow his racing heart to still when he caught a look at the clock on his wall. He was already running late. Carefully slipping his arm away so as not to rouse his brother, Torn crept out of bed and got dressed in silence. He grabbed his pack from the floor and eased his door open, trying to avoid making the hinges squeak. They moaned slightly in protest, but not enough, it seemed, to rouse Ripp.

Torn headed down to the front landing where Simius was already waiting for him.

"I was just about to come get you."

Torn nodded absently, slipping his shoes on without bothering to untie them. "Sorry. Overslept."

"Clearly. Here." Simius handed Torn a couple pieces of toast as he took his son's bag. He nearly dropped it, surprised by the weight. Torn, already well into his makeshift breakfast, grinned slightly.

The two headed out to the family zoomer – a rundown, barely working vehicle that probably wasn't really legal for street use anymore. Torn hopped into shotgun while Simius threw his son's bag in the trunk. There was a tense moment when it seemed as though the zoomer had finally given up on its broken life before starting with a choking wheeze.

Once they were on their way it only took about fifteen minutes to the registration office and after a wait of about half an hour they met with one of the registration administers. The man seemed extremely critical of Torn, an opinion which didn't change even when he looked up the records pertaining to Torn's time put in at the camps as well as his previous schooling. He also had a habit of trying to talk around Torn, clearly preferring to deal only with Simius.

The administrator steepled his fingers before him, leaning his elbows against his desk as he stared critically over the rim of his glasses at Torn. Torn stared levelly back at him, as though daring him to make the first move. His eyes flickered back to Simius, leaving Torn feeling distinctly dismissed.

"We have very high standards at the academy. Only the best will do." This time the man's gaze returned to Torn and he looked at him intensely. He cast a critical eye over the teen, vision lingering over the t-shirt that didn't quite fit properly and making no attempt to hide his disapproving look at Torn's long hair. "Are you sure that your son-"

Torn shot to his feet. "Look,  _sir_ , I'm plenty capable of doing this. I'm not some  _child_ , so stop treating me like one." He flicked his head at the computer monitor. "You've got my records up, that should be enough for you to take me seriously."

"Torn, sit down," Simius said, putting a hand on his son's elbow and tugging. "You're not doing yourself any favours like this."

Reluctantly, Torn sank back to his seat, though he still had an air of defiance about him. For the first time, however, the administrator decided to address him directly.

"Enlisting in the Krimzon Guard is a lifelong commitment. Your allegiance is to this city and our ruler, everyone and everything else comes second. Any moral obligations that you have must be put aside in the line of duty. Do you understand that?"

"Of course I do."

Whether the man found this answer satisfactory or not, Torn wasn't sure, but Simius was being addressed once more. "We will have to test your son to ensure that his records are accurate and have not been tampered with in any way. It shouldn't take long. Provided his assessment is favourable, there will be forms to sign and you will discuss payment with one of our financial advisors while we give your son his identification."

* * *

In Torn's opinion, the assessment was hardly sufficient to properly screen anyone hoping to enlist, but he easily passed. Then came the paperwork. By the time that Torn had finished signing off on everything, he'd given up on reading all of the fine print, choosing instead to skim for any interesting words, and he felt sure that the KG was now in possession of his soul and possibly the rights to his firstborn child. The paperwork ended with Simius signing a consent form and then Torn was whisked away to get his identification.

 _This_ , he was worried about. Where most schools simply used I.D. cards, the Academy preferred to brand all of their students with abstract tattoos. No one was given the same tattoos, despite some designs being extremely similar.

After a wait that Torn would have preferred to be much longer, a large, burly man came into the waiting area and led Torn to the room in which he would be receiving his ink. The tattoo artist was surprisingly friendly despite his menacing appearance. He closed the door behind Torn and turned a curious eye to the teen.

"Right, well we're gonna be here a while, kid," he said. "Best get a move on." There was something reassuring in how casually he acted. "First thing's first. You need to strip down to your boxers, or briefs. Take off everything but your underpants."

For a moment all Torn could do was stare at him.

"You didn't think you were getting inked through your clothes, did you?"

Torn laughed somewhat sheepishly. "No, I guess not. Just never gave it much thought," he said, slipping off his shirt. As he unzipped his fly he couldn't resist asking, "Is it awkward when you encounter people who prefer to go commando?"

The tattoo artist laughed as he brought up the image on his computer screen that would tell him how Torn was to be tattooed. "Only for them." He turned back around and looked at Torn. "I've seen it all before. Hell, I've inked down there."

Torn's expression was a mix of mortification and bewilderment. "Who would  _ever_  want…? But that would…" He shook his head, deciding he'd prefer not to think too hard about it. He kicked his clothes off to the corner of the room and stood next to the artist, feeling extremely exposed and vulnerable in his boxers.

The man gestured to a chair that Torn thought looked a little too much like something from a spy movie where the villain tried to torture information from the hero. Still, he'd known this was coming.

"You nervous, kid?" the artist asked without any condescension. Somewhat reluctantly, Torn nodded. "Well, don't be. I've done this hundreds of times." He began to clean the area around Torn's left ankle with rubbing alcohol. It was cold and without warning, caused Torn to flinch. The man chuckled. "So, don't move during the inking, unless I say so. We're going to be here for quite a while, like I said. But otherwise, moving will ruin your tattoos. I'm gonna start from the bottom and work my way up. Once I get up to your face if you tear up, that can wreck them too. Got it?"

Torn nodded once. "Got it."

The needle left a burning sensation that made Torn want to scream. He was sure that he could feel his body trying to reject this foreign substance that was so forcibly being pumped into it. The relief he felt at the removal of the needle was wonderful, but short-lived as it pushed back in.  _Two down, only a million more to go._

It was agony. He leaned back, gritting his teeth and clenched his fists so tightly that his nails bit his palms, drawing blood. This was a test. It had to be. They wanted to know that he could handle pain. He wouldn't fail. He wouldn't let them brand him a weakling. But it  _hurt_  so badly… How was this even legal? He was only fourteen. He reprimanded himself for this train of thought. Simius had signed the consent form.  _Anything_  was legal now.

After his legs had been fully inked, the artist allowed Torn a slight break before he started on his abdomen and chest. It burned. This torturous feeling of the needle, dipping in and out of his skin was like fire. The second injection was the worst. It was easily the worst thing he'd ever felt. His flesh, already tender and sore from the first shot was subjected to a second; the pain was beyond his comprehension. He ached to move, shriek in pain, fight off the one causing him this agony, but he felt trapped. He was immobilized by his sheer determination to not give into his baser instincts. Even so, the occasional, pitiful whine would emerge from between his clenched teeth, but that was the extent of his protests.

It took hours. His face was the last thing to receive tattooing. The pain had lessened by this point, due to the anesthetic administered to him by the artist after the panic attack that he'd suffered during the inking of his neck. He couldn't help thinking that somehow the man would accidentally puncture one of his main veins. It had been a minor painkiller, designed more to relax him than actually deaden the pain, but it still helped.

As Torn lay there, he tried to figure out what his facial tattoo would look like. It was far from an easy task as the burning in his face was making it nearly impossible to guess. Going over them the second time was simply torturous. Why was he there? He just wanted it to be over…

"We're on the home stretch now, kid. You're doing really well." The artist's words were surprisingly reassuring. Drawing on reserves of strength that Torn didn't know he possessed he forced himself to stay still and quiet. Within fifteen minutes, Torn's tattoo was completed. And then the needle was no longer puncturing his skin, sinking into his flesh… He'd never known that something could be so relieving.

"You got someone to take you home, kid?" the artist asked.

Torn's eyes opened and he looked at the man, sitting up slightly. "What?" His voice was surprisingly hoarse, even for him.

"Someone to take you home?" he repeated.

"Oh." Torn allowed himself to slump back, scarcely able to hold his head up. "Yeah. My Dad." He ached everywhere. The sting would probably last for days, but it would still be far kinder than the needle that had done it. "What do they look like?"

The artist began rummaging around, and for a moment Torn though he somehow hadn't been heard. But then the artist was holding a mirror in front of him, allowing the teen to see his design. It surprised Torn. It was surprisingly not very solid, despite what the pain in his forehead and face was telling him. There was an oval in the middle of his forehead, with lines branching out from its edge across his forehead and diagonally down his cheeks; almost reminiscent of a sun. It was strangely artistic for what he had expected from the KG. Aided by the mirror he could just make out blue highlighting the tips of his ears and if he shifted to look down, he could make out abstract lines working their way down his body. And every one of them hurt.

The mirror was withdrawn and the artist offered Torn his hand. "Get up slowly, kid. That anesthetic's gonna make you groggy."

"Yeah…" Torn grabbed the man's hand and used it to pull himself up.

"Your clothes are right where you left them. You probably don't feel like you'll want to wear them, but trust me, it'll be better if you do. I'll expect to see you again before school starts, just to check that they're healing up nicely. Try not to pick at them and don't immerse them in water for a while and you should be fine."

Torn nodded and then discovered that that wasn't exactly the smartest decision of the day as he staggered slightly and the artist had to grab him to keep him from falling over.

"Easy, kid. You're one tough son of a bitch. I've had adults that couldn't keep as quiet as you did." He steered Torn over to the corner that he'd left his clothes in. "You get dressed and I'll go give your old man a quick run through. Feel free to take your time."

Torn did take his time. Dressing was painful and he fought whimpers the whole time. At least once he got home he could take some aspirin or something to kill the pain.  _That_ , he decided, was the first thing he was going to do when he got home.

Simius was waiting for him when he got out of the room. At the sight of Torn, his face broke into an uncharacteristically broad grin. "That's my boy!" He stood and clapped Torn on the shoulder; an action which caused Torn to yelp and his eyes to water. Simius had just smacked one of his tattoos.

"Dad…don't. Please," Torn said, batting his father's hands away. At any other time he might've found Simius's enthusiasm catching. But he hurt too much and now that he was free from the burning of the needle, and was about to head home, all he could think about was how furious his mother was going to be.

_Mom is going to kill me._


	3. Another KG Recruit

Torn slouched in the passenger seat of the family zoomer, staring with disinterest at the vehicles in the other lanes. He shifted his shoulders and instantly regretted it. Everywhere hurt. Everywhere. If only he could not move, not feel, not  _be_  at that moment. His father's continued enthusiasm was starting to get on his nerves too. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the fact that Simius was pleased with him or that he didn't  _like_  hearing that his father was proud of him, it was just that at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to drift into unconsciousness – a feat which was made infinitely trickier by the man's constant chatter.

And then there was still the matter of Juska to consider. She would be furious. Livid. He didn't want to think about her reaction, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he'd have to deal with her before he ever got to go rest.

He was jolted upright as Simius switched hover zones to park outside their house. The movement sent fresh bursts of pain shooting along his tattoos and he let out an involuntary yelp. " _Warning_ , Dad. Ow." He pressed his hands to his mouth and screwed his eyes shut as he attempted to stifle the newest whimpers.

Simius chuckled,  _chuckled_. The mere notion of such a response grated on Torn's already frayed nerves. "Sorry, Torn. Didn't think about that."

"Clearly…" Mustering all of his remaining energy and pain resistance, Torn eased out of the zoomer. He would have fallen had he not grabbed the side of the zoomer to steady himself. Lights seemed to flare in his eyes and, unthinking, Torn clutched his head. The responding pain sent him staggering. Again he would've toppled, but Simius was there to catch him by the arm – thankfully missing any of the fresh ink – and pull Torn upright once more.

"You alright?" he asked.

Torn thought that the answer to that was perfectly obvious, but he responded anyway. "No. I'm getting a migraine." Again the lights flashed through his eyes and Torn hunched over, head in his hands, scarcely managing to ignore the pain this caused to shoot through his skin.

"Ah." Simius nodded knowingly and guided Torn towards the door, hands still – mercifully – not on any of the teen's tattoos. He opened the door and gently shoved Torn inside, following close behind.

The first thing that Torn saw through his fingers was his mother standing at the top of the stairs leading up from the front landing, arms crossed over her chest. She looked far from pleased.

"And just  _where_  were you two all day?" she demanded.

The harshness of her voice caused Torn to wince and he lowered his hands slowly, no longer able to hold them there any longer.

Moments later Juska gasped. "You took him  _there_? I said he wasn't going, Simius!" Her voice rose, becoming shrill, painful. She strode down the stairs, each step a nail in Torn's skull. "Torn! You deliberately disobeyed me!"

Torn wasn't focused on Juska, instead he looked over her shoulder where he'd seen Ripp appear at the top of the stairs, drawn by the shouting. There was no chance to give any sign that he'd seen the boy though, as Juska was clearly not about to let his disobedience go.

"What gives you the gall to do this?" she demanded. Torn's vision focused on her a second too late, drawn by the movement of her fist. Her fist which promptly connected with his forehead – right in the middle of his tattoos.

Torn's knees buckled, a hissing whine escaping between clenched teeth followed by a cry as his knees connected abruptly with the hard floor. His hands slapped to the linoleum to keep himself from pitching forward, eyes blinded by tears of pain. He drew in about four ragged, harsh gasps before pushing himself back to his feet. He swayed dangerously, but remained standing.

The shock on Ripp's face was clear. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open. "Torn!" He raced down the stairs, tripped and caught himself just before tumbling the rest of the way down the flight. "Torn, are you okay?" he asked. He'd barely allowed time for Torn's weak nod before he rounded on Juska. "What did you hit him for?"

It was at this point that Simius decided to intervene. He drew himself up to his full height and stepped towards Ripp. " _What_  did you just say to your mother, brat? You  _do not_  speak to her that way. Do you understand me?" he snarled.

Ripp shrank back, tripping over the bottom step of the stairs and clambered backwards up the first few steps, eyes fixed in terror on his father. He nodded, feeling for the next step to pull himself up onto. "Yes, sir." There was a moment when he seemed about to bolt for his room when he said, "But she  _hit_  Torn!"

Those four words were the spark that ignited the following shouted argument. Torn clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. Of course there was going to be a family wide argument over something as simple as enlisting in the KG.

Ripp, for his part, was silenced abruptly by a backhand from Simius that sent him sprawling across the stairs. Clutching his cheek, the boy chanced a glare at his father from between his fingers. Simius appeared to be preparing to hit him again when Torn's shout interrupted everything.

"Enough!" the teen cried, eyes still shut tight. "Just shut the hell up already!" His dry voice shocked the room into silence. He gingerly lowered his hands, prepared to clap them back over his ears should the shouting abruptly resume. "I don't want to hear any more about this. If anyone  _needs_  me, I will be in my room, knocked out on aspirin. Call me when dinner's ready."

Without waiting for anyone to reply, Torn pushed through his parents, stepped around Ripp and bolted up the last few stairs. His first stop was the bathroom where he pulled open the medicine cabinet and dry-swallowed two pills. He eyed the bottled contemplatively, wondering if an extra dose would kill the pain faster. Deciding that it wasn't worth it, he left the bathroom, bottle of aspirin still in hand.

Sunlight was flooding into his room, temporarily blinding him and making his already pounding head worse. Groaning, Torn slumped over to his curtains and tugged them haphazardly shut, cursing his mother – doubtless she had been the one to open them. The bottle of aspirin was placed on his bedside table, next to his lamp. He flopped gratefully to the bed, ignoring the waves of pain rippling through his tender skin at the contact. After a moment he sat up on an elbow, pulling off his shirt and flinging it to the floor. He contemplated removing his pants as well, but that would require getting up again – something he wasn't at all sure he was capable of. He was already nauseous from the migraine and the stress of the day, the last thing he needed was to try standing anytime soon.

He lay back against the pillow and draped one arm over his eyes to block out the residual sunlight creeping in through his curtains. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind it registered that the ridge above his eyes was smooth, but the implications of this didn't compute in his addled brain. He lay there, unmoving, for nearly half an hour.

The creak of his door's hinges roused him from his half-asleep state. He made a mental note that he'd have to grease the hinges the next chance he got. Ripp's soft footsteps were loud in what had been Torn's silent solitude and the teen groaned.

"Hey…Torn?" Ripp asked, his voice little more than a terrified whisper. "Are you okay?"

"Not really. But I'll be alright," he replied, not moving.

"You sure?"

"I hurt everywhere and I have a migraine. It'll go away. You can stay if you want but I'm not going to be interesting any time soon." He heard Ripp sit down. Or he was pretty sure he did. "Right. So. Be quiet. Don't move me. Don't touch me. I'll throw up on you." He smirked slightly at the sound of what he was sure was Ripp recoiling slightly.

"Kay," Ripp murmured through what sounded like both hands pressed firmly over his mouth. Torn wasn't in the mood to check.

"Mm. Good kid."

Torn fell asleep shortly thereafter and didn't hear a thing when Ripp got up to leave his room. The tattooing process, physical abilities test, as well as everything else that had happened that day had left him utterly drained.

* * *

A couple hours later Torn awoke. His headache seemed to have mostly dissipated and the ache from his tattoos – though still there – seemed to have deadened somewhat. It was, in Torn's opinion, too soon for either to have completely vanished of its own accorded and concluded that the aspirin was to thank for his relief. He sat up and stretched, cringing slightly before getting up. Torn placed his hand on the wall for support after taking a few unsteady steps towards the door. He kept his hand on the wall as he descended into the kitchen where his mother was just finishing dinner.

Juska looked up from the stove, arching an eyebrow. "Those tattoos got everywhere, didn't they?"

"Mm? Oh. Yeah."

"Sleep well, honey?"

Torn rolled a kink out of his neck before replying. "Yeah. I guess so." He paused to stretch again, lifting his arms over his head, causing his spine to make a small series of little popping noises. "Why?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

An amused grin spread across Juska's face at his expression. "No reason. Just standard mother questions." She sighed once. "It's going to take a while before I get used to seeing you like this. Though I suppose once your eyebrows grow back it'll look a bit more natural."

Torn blinked and raised a hand to his brow. It was smooth. "Guess they got shaved off for the ink. I  _totally_  don't remember that." He shrugged once and turned to leave the kitchen again. "Whatever."

"Torn," Juska said, "Erol called. He asked if you were busy tomorrow. I told him you'd call him back."

He looked over his bare shoulder at her. "Really? Wonder why. Guess I'll go do that."

Juska nodded, more at the stove than her son. "Just be fast, dinner will be in a couple minutes."

"Yeah. Sure thing."

Torn grabbed the cordless phone from the counter on his way out of the kitchen. He dialed as he walked back to his room. It rang as he sat on the floor of his room, back to the wall. After two rings it was picked up.

"Hello." Buir. Erol's father, the man sounded serious, but then, he always sounded serious, so that wasn't all that noteworthy.

"Is Erol there?" Torn asked, not bothering to even make an effort at engaging in small talk.

There was a slight pause. "I'll get him for you." In the background, Torn could make out Buir yelling for Erol and the shouted reply. Then the distinct  _lack_  of a result this produced followed by the sound of a door slamming. There was the noise of a door opening – likely the same one that had just been slammed – another conversation and then something that Torn could only assume was Erol finally taking the phone.

"What the hell do you want?" Erol snarled into the phone.

Torn snorted. "Well aren't  _you_  just a bag of sunshine." The apparent difficulty that Buir had had getting the phone to Erol coupled with the other teen's attitude was all Torn needed to know that there had been a fight between father and son. And it certainly hadn't been pretty. "Mom said you called, what's up?"

There was a moment of silence punctuated by a sigh. "Oh. Right. Um…" It was clear, even through the phone, that something was bothering the usually fiery teen – something that Torn was not altogether unsure had anything to do with the hypothesized fight. "I… I need to go see… I should, that is, I feel like I really ought to go see Mum tomorrow." Again there was silence. "And you know… I don't like going by myself, but if you're busy, that-that's completely fine. Hell, if you don't want to that's okay too. But um…yeah," Erol finished rather lamely.

For a moment Torn thought. "Sure I'll come, but why— _Oh_. Right. Right. Yeah. Sure."

"Thank-thanks, Torn. Seriously. See you tomorrow morning, then?"

Torn nodded, despite the fact that Erol couldn't see him. "Yeah. See you tomorrow. I've gotta go. Dinner."

"Kay. See you." There was a click as Erol hung up. Torn terminated his end of the conversation and, phone still in hand, headed downstairs for dinner.

* * *

Dinner that night was much less eventful than the one the previous night. It was clear that there was still tension between Torn and his mother, but both tried valiantly not to show it. Seeming oddly uncomfortable with this, Simius was the one to try and strike up conversation.

"So Torn, what're you going to do with your last couple weeks of summer?"

The teen shrugged. "I dunno. Sleep? Hang around with Erol?" His brow suddenly furrowed. "Wait. Couple weeks?"

Simius nodded. "You've got two. Public school goes back in a week." He pointed at Torn with his fork. "You'll have to get your hair cut sometime, the academy's dress code doesn't allow long hair; they think it's too rebellious."

Torn absently ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Damn. I thought there was an option there… Guess I'll have to get on that. Can't do it tomorrow though. I've got plans with Erol." He gave his head a disbelieving shake. "I can't believe it's already been six years…."

Juska looked at her sons sadly. There was an odd tenderness in her eyes. "That poor boy. It must be so hard on him."

Torn bristled slightly at this comment. Did Juska honestly think that looking after Ripp had been so easy? He may have voiced this opinion had Ripp not put his hand on Torn's arm. "What must? What happened?"

Torn put his hand on Ripp's head. "You're too little to remember. It's not a good story, kid. Real bad dinner conversation."

"But what  _happened_? I wanna know!"

Torn shook his head. "Not right now. Remind me later, alright?"

Ripp pouted but went back to his dinner. Torn ruffled the boy's hair before returning to his own food. The silence that had enshrouded the dinner table had returned, albeit one with a much more somber mood.

* * *

That night Torn lay awake, thinking. He was tired but just couldn't seem to quiet his mind. Six years. It had been six years since the day that Erol's, and – to a far smaller degree – his own life, had imploded. The world had been far from kind to either of them. His thoughts drifted to Erol's mother and how much help she had been when he'd been struggling to look after Ripp…

_Someone was knocking at the door, two quick raps. A knock that Torn had become extremely familiar with. Brushing his short hair out of his eyes, he got up to answer._

_Erol stood on the doorstep, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was grinning, just a bit, but this faded as he picked up on Torn's mood._

" _Hey, Erol. C'mon in." Torn's voice was flat, emotionless. "What'd I miss today?" He moved aside to grant Erol access and then closed the door behind him._

" _Well, we learned some new math, but it's really easy. I promise. I brought the worksheet. I dunno when we're supposed to have it done by. Not for a while," Erol said as he and Torn ventured into the living room. "Oh! And there's another grammar booklet, but don't worry, I can explain it. It's a piece of pie."_

" _Cake," Torn corrected automatically._

" _What?"_

" _The saying. It's supposed to be piece of cake."_

" _Oh. Well, whatever."_

_The two boys sat on the couch and Erol pulled off his backpack, rummaging through it in search of Torn's homework. "Anyway," the redhead continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "it's all really easy." With a pleased, "Here we go!" Erol pulled out both the grammar booklet and math sheet and set them on the coffee table._

_Torn fixed Erol with a miserable look. His blue eyes were tired and met Erol's brown ones sullenly. He shook his head. "I can't keep doing this. It's_ hard _." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, letting out a pitiful whimper. For a moment, Erol seemed lost, then he put his arm around Torn's shoulders and squeezed. "I don't like this… I don't like it. Mom's sick, Dad's working…. I'm just a kid. I don't know what to do anymore."_

" _Aw, Torn… it's okay." Erol bit his lip for a moment before he pushed away their homework. "Know what? Just forget the work for now. It's not important anyway." He abruptly straightened and gave Torn a small smack on the shoulder. "I almost forgot. Mum says you're coming to our house for dinner tonight."_

" _I can't I've got to look after-"_

"Bring _Ripp! Mum'll look after him. She said she will. And she said that you're coming whether you like it or not. Something about you needing to be looked after. It'll be great. Okay?"_

_Torn looked up at Erol. "But-"_

" _No buts. You're coming."_

_It drew a small laugh from Torn. "Thanks, Erol."_

" _It was Mum's idea. Thank_ her _when you come over!"_

_Torn nodded. "Alright. I will."_

Torn smiled slightly at the memory of that dinner. Erol's mother had spent most of it fawning over both him and Ripp. She'd been such a kind woman, at points it seemed like she'd been more of a mother to him than Juska had. Erol had been a lot more cheerful back then too. And then…well… Ever since he'd lost his mother, the redhead had become far more serious, gripped occasionally by moments of insanity. His precarious mental state worried Torn, who had watched it grow slowly worse as the years progressed. And then the fights with Buir had started, plunging Erol into further chaos.

Torn had never actually gotten the details of what had happened six years ago. He'd been too scared to ask. Whatever had occurred had psychologically twisted Erol, corrupted him almost beyond recognition.

It was with these troubled thoughts on his mind that Torn finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Torn arrived outside Erol's house the next morning, he could hear raised voices coming from within. The windows were open as well, changing what would have been a much more private shouting match into something unfortunately more public. He cringed. Only mid-morning and already Buir and Erol were at each other's throats. Dimly, he wondered if the people on this street _ever_  got any peace and quiet. He contemplated knocking on the door, but figured that either they wouldn't hear him, or that it would somehow only serve to enflame the situation. So he hung back, listening guiltily to the heated argument between Erol and his father.

"Just get over it already!" Buir shouted.

"Don't tell me what to do!" was Erol's snarled reply. "You weren't there! You didn't see what I did! You don't understand!" His voice grew louder, if that was even possible. "You got _engaged_  and didn't give me one ounce of warning! You're replacing my mother, and I'm not allowed to have a  _problem_  with this?"

Torn couldn't make out what Buir next said. The man had lowered his voice considerably and Torn could scarcely hear the murmured that suggested that he was speaking. Then Erol was shouting again.

"No! Why don't you just  _fuck_  her already, Dad? We both know that's  _all_  you want!"

Torn felt his jaw drop. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Erol something so vulgar, especially not something so vulgar so loudly. For a moment he was embarrassed to even be listening, but at the same time, it wasn't as though Erol was making it easy not to.

"That is  _it_! Get out! I don't want to see your sorry ass around here anymore!"

The front door flew open and a livid Erol stalked out, shouting over his shoulder. "Fine with me, you fucking bastard!" He slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the shutters on his house then turned around. "Oh. Hey, Torn."

"That's some argument," Torn said, would-be eyebrows arched. It wasn't just the result of the shouting disagreement that had him surprised, it was Erol's appearance. His hair was combed neatly back, and his normally obnoxiously coloured clothing had been swapped for a sober black, but that wasn't the most dramatic change.

Erol's golden-brown eyes were surrounded by two large, semi-rectangular, blue tattoos. There was blue ink highlighting the tip of each ear and the suggestion of blue markings on his neck as well.

The redhead looked rather embarrassed, an odd expression for him. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Nice ink."

Torn nodded once. "Thanks. You too. Should've seen that coming."

"Seen what? My joining the  _elite_  forces of the blue tattoo squad? Probably. But I didn't expect you to either, so I suppose we're even."

The taller boy shrugged. "If you say so. Hurt like hell, didn't it?"

"Oh, like bloody hell.  _But_ ," Erol paused, and lifted his right hand to his face, "I think I win in the pain department. See?" He used a finger to pull down his eyelid and show Torn the blue that coated the skin. "Eyelids. Hurt like a bitch."

Torn nodded. "I bet."

Erol looked up and sighed, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Well, there's no point just hanging around here. Let's go."

Torn was about to ask if Erol was sure that he wasn't just reopening a wound every time he did this, but decided against it. After the argument he'd just overheard, doing anything that might irritate the redhead was low on his list of priorities.

Erol's shoulders slumped as they walked, his head hung and his eyes were downcast. Anyone watching would've thought that he was about to go to his execution or some such fate. Again, Torn considered mentioning that Erol seemed to be torturing himself needlessly, but again he kept his thoughts to himself. Neither teen spoke as they walked. Erol looked broken, destroyed, but then again, he always did on the anniversary of his mother's death.

It only got worse once they got to the graveyard. Erol's skin had become paler than usual and his golden-brown eyes had a faraway look to them. To Torn it was perfectly clear that Erol's body was moving without conscious thought, as though he'd been set to autopilot.

At the grave, Erol knelt and reached out to put his palm on the headstone. His gloved fingers trailed over the engraving, feeling the letters of his mother's name. His lips moved as he whispered quietly. "Hi, Mum. I doubt you'd be happy with me right now. Dad and I had a fight again. He's engaged now, which I guess is a good thing. He keeps telling me to move on, but I can't. I still miss you."

Torn stood awkwardly next to his friend, trying to pretend that he couldn't hear a thing that Erol was saying. He looked up at the sky and tried to figure out just  _how_  disrespectful it would be if he flopped down in the grass between graves and chose to watch clouds until Erol was ready to leave. Deciding that Erol would be the only one to care and, as he was otherwise occupied, he probably wouldn't notice, Torn decided to do exactly that.

"Everyone keeps saying that it's going to get better, but it hasn't. Mum, I'm sorry."

There were tears on Erol's face by now, and Torn chanced a glance in his direction. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get to know more of what had happened to Erol's mother. He tried to reprimand himself for the thought and forced himself to go back to watching clouds, but he couldn't help listening for anything interesting that Erol said. It was perfectly natural to be curious after all, particularly when Erol was  _so_  tight-lipped about the whole affair.

"It's all my fault. If I hadn't been such a…such a  _coward_ , you'd still be here. I could've done something. Should've. But I didn't. I'm sorry, Mum."

Erol was shaking by then, which Torn noted with his next glance over. After a moment of debating with himself, Torn sat up and put a hand on Erol's shoulder, squeezing slightly. It didn't seem that Erol even noticed.

"I was just doing what you told me to… But I could've done something…"

Torn glanced around for a moment to make sure that there was no one around watching them before he moved his arm around Erol's shoulders to give him an awkward hug. They stayed like that for half of an hour before a whispered farewell passed Erol's lips and he stood, dislodging Torn's arm. He wiped his eyes on the back of a gloved hand and looked at Torn.

"I'm sorry I always drag you here with me. I can't imagine it's the most pleasant experience."

Torn shrugged. "Whatever. It's alright."

Erol's lips twitched into his customary smirk. "Sure it is. We should probably get going. Unless you  _want_  hang around here all day."

Torn got to his feet, brushing grass off his shins. "Nah. I'm alright without doing that." He didn't let it show, but he was surprised that they were leaving so quickly. The last few times they'd spent at least an hour there. He wasn't about to complain though. Whether or not Erol was aware of it, he was slowly coming to terms with the loss.

For the first while on the return trip, Erol didn't say anything. He found a stone and was kicking it, hands jammed in his pockets. It was only when the rock bounced away on the cobblestone and into the gutter that Erol stopped walking.

"Dammit. I can't go home yet." He looked at Torn. "Dad's still going to be royally pissed at me. I really  _do_  hate it when we fight, and it's not like we ever come to blows, it's just that we just…sort of suck at getting along right now. I just wish I'd get considered before he makes decisions like  _getting engaged_."

Torn shrugged. "It must be a parent thing, but what can you do?  _Mine_  do it  _all_  the time." He glanced at his watch. "We've still got time to do stuff. I mean, I'm not expected home until…I don't even know when."

Erol looked sceptically at his friend. "And just what did you have in mind?"

Torn shrugged again. "Well the class three is coming up, so there should be a fair amount of activity at the stadium. And last time I checked, you were really into that stuff."

The redhead punched the taller teen in the shoulder. "I'm still into that stuff. Idiot," he said, grinning. "I'm still going to be a racer one day. Don't think I'm letting the Guard interfere with  _that_  plan."

Torn laughed. "Yeah. A NYFE racing Krimzon Guard. I would  _love_  to see you try and get life insurance with that kind of career."

Erol smirked at him. "Watch me."

It was on this considerably more cheerful note that the boys changed direction from the slums and started towards the stadium instead.


	4. Troubles at Home

For Torn, the stadium held little appeal, but it was still a good place to kill time and, of course, distract Erol. On their previous excursions to the stadium the pair had been lucky to even come across a couple racers, but with the third class races fast approaching, the stadium was bustling with activity.

There had to be at least two dozen racers there, by Torn's estimation. All of them were busy testing their NYFE racers and adjusting them, changing the oil, and just all around making sure that they were still in working order after the season's break. Most of the racers, understandably, weren't interested in having a couple of teenagers hanging around, potentially screwing up delicate operations. Most would tolerate them for only a few minutes before pointedly suggesting that there was a lot to get done before the races actually started. Eventually Torn had suggested that they head to the stands to watch the actual practices. Despite the limitations of this passive observance of race preparations, Erol's obvious enthusiasm for simply being around the racing atmosphere refused to wane.

" _This_ ," Erol said, leaning back in his seat, "is the life. Listen to those engines, smell that  _oil_ …" He sighed contentedly, folding his arms behind his head.

Torn rolled his eyes. "So you enlisted  _why_?"

The redhead gave a dry laughed. "Very funny. You know as well as I do that we're the kind of people who are best suited to the KG."

"That answers awfully little."

Erol shrugged. "You've got your reasons. I've got mine. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"If you say so."

"I do." Erol flashed one of his rare smiles at Torn and leaned back in his seat.

They were silent for a while, Torn choosing to let Erol sit there and daydream. Neither teen glanced up at the sound of footsteps heading towards them. It was hardly uncommon for a mechanic to venture into the stands so they could watch their racer preform a trial run with whatever modifications had just been made. It was only when they were directly addressed that either Torn or Erol looked over.

"What are a couple of kids like you doing here?" the man asked. His tone betrayed no sense of annoyance or suspicion, merely curiosity.

Torn looked at the man and cocked his head slightly, unused to be addressed as "kid," particularly by someone who was at most in his early twenties. He was about to answer, when Erol beat him to it.

"Just watching…" Erol said, staring wistfully down at the track.

The man laughed good-naturedly. "I remember those days. I used to come here all the time to harass the racers into answering my questions. I figured that's what you two might be up to. Anyway, I was about to go work on my zoomer a bit, you're welcome to come if you'd like. I can't imagine you're getting too much out of anyone else."

Erol's eyes lit up and he looked at Torn as though asking for approval. Torn shrugged indifferently.

The man's name turned out to be Skinter. He was friendly and seemed eager to please, answering any and all of Erol's questions to the best of his ability while he worked. Torn amused himself by looking taking a look around the racer's garage while Skinter and Erol discussed the finer aspects of NYFE racing. It was only once Erol started to slow down that Skinter was able to give Torn some of his attention.

"How about you? Anything you want to know?" he asked.

Torn hadn't given the topic any thought and was caught rather off guard. He glanced thoughtfully at the ceiling. Erol had to have taken all the serious questions, so that left him with… "Yeah, does the colour of paint determine how fast a zoomer goes?"

Erol gave Torn a quick smack upside the head. "Moron."

Skinter simply laughed at them. "No," he said, "But red ones  _look_  faster." He sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on a dirty rag. "That looks about done…" He looked at Torn and Erol. "Any last questions?"

Torn shook his head and gestured at Erol. "He's the racing freak."

"Enthusiast," Erol corrected automatically.

The taller teen shrugged. "Nuance."

Skinter chuckled. "You two have been around each other too long." He turned his gaze to Erol. "Well then, Mr. racing enthusiast, any last questions?"

Erol bit his lower lip for a moment, clearly hesitating. Then, he looked at Skinter and said, "I don't supposed you'd let me try that?" He flicked his head at the zoomer as he spoke.

It was strange how so straightforward a question could stump Skinter. He grimaced and looked at Erol, then his NYFE racer, and back. His reluctance was well justified, at least as far a Torn was concerned. NYFE racing was extremely dangerous, not to mention how quickly things could get expensive if something went wrong.

"Have you ever driven one of these things before?" Skinter asked slowly.

Erol nodded. "Yeah. A few times."

* * *

Torn peered over the edge of the stands, watching Erol and Skinter prepare the NYFE for its trial run. He gripped the railing, hoping he wasn't about to watch Erol crash and kill himself. The mask that Skinter had loaned the redhead wasn't particularly reassuring, but it  _was_  better than nothing.

Down on the track, they appeared to have everything sorted out and Skinter was backing away. Erol looked up at Torn, his characteristic smirk plastered firmly on his face. He gave Torn a quick thumbs up, which Torn returned – without any of Erol's enthusiasm.

"Don't kill yourself, idiot…" he muttered, watching with growing apprehension as Erol flipped the racing mask down and settled himself firmly in the NYFE's single seat.

Skinter must have mentioned something to everyone else attempting to make use of the track, because Erol had it to himself. A move that Torn noted with vague approval, at least if something went horribly wrong, there'd only be one casualty. As Erol fired up the engines, someone at track level shouted, "Rookie at the helm!" The end of the shout was nearly drowned out by the roar of the engine as Erol hit the gas and sped off down the track.

Torn's grip on the railing in front of him tightened until his knuckles were white and his hands hurt. Did the professional racers go that fast? Torn wasn't at all sure that they did. It seemed  _too_  fast. But that couldn't be right.

"Slow down, moron, slow down," he whispered between clenched teeth. He heaved a great sigh of relief when Erol finished his lap and hit the brakes, completely unscathed.

When Erol returned from the track, he had a huge grin on his face and his eyes were gleaming in a wholly unsettling manner. Skinter was right behind the redhead; he appeared shaken, but still clapped Erol on the back.

"I am so glad that I'm not going to be up against you in the class three this year. I'm not sure I'd stand a chance," Skinter said, smiling. "You'll be a great racer one day."

Erol shrugged and reached up to undo the straps of the mask. "I dunno," he said, strangely modest, "Thanks for letting me try, but it's just a hobby."

Torn snorted. "Obsession, more like."

"Shut up, Torn." Erol pulled the mask off and held it out to Skinter.

Skinter put his hand on the mask and pushed it back towards Erol. "Keep it, kid. Think of it as a reminder. Hobby, obsession, way of life, whatever racing is for you don't give up on it. I can see you being city champ one day. Keep up whatever you're doing, and you'll go far."

* * *

Torn kept his eyes on Erol as they left the stadium; the fiery teen was shaking, his hands incapable of holding still.

"Erol, you okay?"

"What?" Erol looked up, as though surprised he was being addressed. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. Why?"

Torn arched one of his non-existent eyebrows at the other boy. "Well, you're kinda shaking," he said. "You didn't notice?"

Erol let out a laugh. "Seriously? I am  _so_  high on adrenaline right now, it's not even  _funny_."

"Well that's not surprising. I thought you were going to crash into something and  _explode_ ," Torn said, shaking his head.

This comment merely elicited further laughter from Erol. "Oh honestly, Torn, what are the odds of  _that_  ever happening to  _me_?"

"Hey, it's happened." Torn groaned and shook his head. "That was nuts. If you ever seriously become a racer, I am  _not_  watching you race. Ever."

"Whoa, c'mon seriously?" Erol demanded, " _If_?"

Torn shrugged. "Hey, nothing's a sure thing, right? I mean, what if you lost an arm or leg or something and couldn't race?"

Erol rolled his eyes. " _Cybernetics_. They've got the tech, it's a godsend… So I've heard. They can do anything with that stuff. I heard that they're getting close to being able to just pretty well input consciousness into a robot, so your body could be almost completely destroyed, but if they were fast enough, you could still exist."

The taller boy let out a snort of disbelief. "So what? You could have like… a hand and half a face while the rest of you's a robot. That'll  _never_  work."

"Go ahead and come up with some ludicrous example then. You're just being stupid."

"Says the person who says that you can live without a body.  _Who's_  being stupid?"

Erol simply shook his head, a slight smile playing about his lips. He looked at the racing mask he still carried, turning it over and over in his hands.

"Do you think Skinter meant what he said? About me becoming city champion, I mean."

Torn shrugged. "I dunno. I wouldn't say it's impossible. The way you were going around that track I wouldn't say it's all that farfetched. Y'know, assuming you live that long."

Erol stopped walking and looked at Torn, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're  _still_  going on about dying?"

Torn froze mid-step and turned to look at Erol. "You've enlisted in the Krimzon Guard, and you plan to NYFE race on the side. If you live to thirty-five I will be  _amazed_."

Again Erol fell silent, examining his new racing mask. "I wonder what he gave me this for. You'd think he'd need it."

Torn shrugged. "Beats me." He held out his hand. "Let's see?" Erol handed the mask over and Torn cast a cursory eye over it. He pulled a face at the contrast between the silver of the mask and the bulbous red eye coverings. "Well," he began, handing it back to Erol, "it's not  _my_  taste."

The redhead shrugged as he looked at it again. "I think it's kinda cool."

* * *

By the time they reached Erol's house the pair were in far brighter spirits than they'd left in. Even so, Erol showed signs of halting at the prospect of entering his home. He made it to the front steps before turning around. He stared up at the oddly blue sky and said, "Strangely nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

Torn didn't even glance up. "Yeah, nice." He smirked and looked at Erol appraisingly. "You  _do_  know the longer you put off making up with your dad, the harder it's going to be right?"

"Dammit, was it that obvious?"

The brunette nodded. "Yep."

"Well, it's all well and good for  _you_  to say, cause when it gets down to it,  _I'm_  still the one who actually has to go do it."

Again, Torn nodded. "True, but I should be heading home, so if you're just going to sit out here like a weirdo, I'm not going to be around to keep you company." He sighed and ran a hand back through his shoulder length hair. He paused for a moment, examining the tips of his hair and sighed again. "I don't want to get my hair cut…"

Erol blinked, cocking his head to the side. "That was the strangest transition ever. What made you want short hair all of a sudden?"

Torn shook his head. "I  _don't_  want it. Academy policy though. Long hair's too rebellious or something."

"But you look awful with short hair… Why not do dreads?"

Torn's brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Dreadlocks. The policy on hair is 'shed it or dread it.' I thought it was funny wording, so I asked my artist when I was getting inked." Erol shrugged. "It's an obscure option, but you could always do that." He jabbed over his shoulder with his thumb, indicating his house. "Dad's girlf—iancée could put it in dreads if you wanted."

Torn considered this for a moment before he fixed Erol with a semi-devilish grin. "Let's say I'm interested; is it going to get you back in there to talk to your dad any faster?"

Erol's expression instantly became deadpan. "It might."

The taller boy's expression didn't change. "I'm interested. Get your ass in there."

"I hate you."

Torn simply passed off a two-fingered salute and turned on his heel. "See you later, Erol."

"Yeah, yeah. See you later. Jerk."

Torn grinned to himself and started home. He spent most of the short walk contemplating the academy and his mother. He knew Juska too well to believe that her sudden change of heart was even remotely sincere. It wasn't that he could come up with anything that she could do to stop him anymore, but her behavior still left him disturbed.

It didn't take him long to get home, but before he'd even opened the front door, he was sure that he could hear raised voices.

* * *

Ripp sat against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen. His face was pale and he was shaking slightly. Every so often he'd shoot a furtive look at the front door, hoping to see Torn coming home. So far, no such luck. In the kitchen, Simius and Juska were engaged in the middle of a heated argument, which Ripp was hoping would subside soon. Hopefully Torn would be able to stop it once he came back – though Ripp was all too aware that his brother's presence could have the opposite effect. Ripp didn't dare try entering the kitchen himself; the last time he'd tried to Simius had thrown a glass at him.

It had been an unfortunately good shot too. The glass had collided with his shoulder and shattered upon impact, leaving many shards of glass embedded in his shoulder.

Ripp grimaced as he turned his head to look at the still-growing bloodstain on his shirt. He could just make out the edge of a fairly large piece of glass and, whimpering, he picked it out from his flesh. His vision blurred with tears, but he blinked them back. He had to be strong. Just for a little bit longer. Just until Torn came home.

Again he looked hopefully towards the door. Still there was no sign of his brother. Ripp slumped despairingly against the wall and wound up catching a snatch of the argument that he was trying so hard to ignore.

"I told you that he wasn't going! I don't care that he could pay for it! He wasn't supposed to go! When Torn gets home-!"

Ripp clapped his hands over his ears, unable to bear hearing what his mother wanted to do to his brother when he returned. Sitting as he was, crouched on the floor, hands planted firmly over his ears, eyes squeezed shut with his shoulder throbbing, Ripp could barely keep back a miserable whimper. Maybe…maybe it would be better if Torn  _didn't_  go join the argument when he got home. At least not right away.

Another hopeful glance towards the door. Still no Torn. Ripp turned his gaze to his wounded shoulder once more, despite how the sight of it was starting to make him feel queasy. Clenching his teeth, Ripp attempted to remove another of the shards from his shoulder without causing himself too much pain. He failed. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes and he hunched over, hands covering his mouth to muffle his pained wail. He fought to blink away the tears, but succeeded only in making them cascade down his cheeks. The effect was similar to that of a breaking dam. Now that his tears had started, Ripp found himself incapable of stopping them. Blinded by tears and incapable of seeing clearly enough to try and remove further glass from his shoulder, Ripp gave up and slumped against the wall to cry out his pain.

Simius and Juska continued to argue and the boy cringed at the continued raised voices. He hugged his knees to his chest with his good arm and stared at the carpet. There was a sound and Ripp looked up, instantly turning his attention towards the front door. Just visible through the semicircular widow in the door was Torn. He shot to his feet and raced down the stairs just as Torn opened the door.

* * *

Torn staggered back, surprised by the force of Ripp's embrace. His hand brushed something wet and sticky as he returned the hug and he looked down to see a dark red stain standing out, stark against the faded red of Ripp's shirt.

"What the-? Ripp, what-?" Torn began, eyes fixed on his little brother's bloody shoulder.

The boy didn't give him a chance to finish. "Don't go into the kitchen!" he cried. "Mom and Dad are fighting, cause Mom still hates the KG and…and…Just don't go in the kitchen!"

"You're bleeding! Why are you bleeding?"

"Mom and Dad are arguing!"

Torn squatted down and gripped Ripp firmly just above his elbows. "I got that. What happened to your shoulder?"

Ripp tried to squirm free of Torn's grasp, to no avail. "Dad threw a glass at me. I got in the way." He bit his lip and looked up at Torn. "It  _hurts_."

Torn tugged Ripp closer to him and quickly checked over his wound. He pulled a face and let go of his brother.  _That_  was going to be fun to take care of. "It was probably an accident. You know how Dad is; when he's mad, he's violent. You've still got glass in it, but it doesn't look too bad. C'mon, I'll fix you up." Without giving Ripp a chance to argue, Torn picked him up and carried him to the bathroom.

* * *

Ripp sat on the counter next to the sink while Torn rummaged around for everything he'd need to dress his brother's wound.

Torn scrutinized his supplies for a moment longer and then nodded; that seemed like everything.

"Right then," he muttered before looking at Ripp. "Let's get your shirt off, sport." It took a couple minutes, but soon enough Ripp's shirt was off and bunched together in Torn's hands. The teen gave the garment a cursory look and then tossed it into the bathtub. "Red on red; shouldn't stain too badly." He earned a weak grin from Ripp, who was scrubbing fresh tears away with the back of his left hand. Torn smiled slightly at Ripp and gave his hair a quick ruffle and then reached for the pair of tweezers he'd set on the counter.

Ripp whimpered as Torn removed one of the remaining pieces of glass from his shoulder, a few more tears escaping out the corners of his eyes. He tried to wriggle away and made sounds of protest as Torn got the straggling shards out. The teen straightened and wiped a hand back across his forehead.

"I think that's it," Torn concluded, turning on the sink to rinse off the tweezers. He cupped his hands beneath the stream of water and let it fill them before moving his hands to Ripp's shoulder and let the water trickle onto the boy's shoulder. Ripp winced.

"Ow…"

"Sorry, I'm doing the best I can," Torn said as he selected the iodine from the counter. "This is going to sting a bit," he warned just before letting a few drops fall onto Ripp's nebula of cuts.

Ripp let out a yell and tried to pull away, slapping at Torn's hand, but Torn had anticipated this reaction and still had a firm grip on his little brother's forearm with his second hand. Ripp didn't get very far. He glared at Torn – the effect of which was somewhat ruined by his tearstained cheeks.

"You said it was going to  _sting_  not  _burn_ ," Ripp complained.

Torn rolled his eyes. "If I'd said 'this may sear a bit,' you wouldn't have let me put it on." He then selected the roll of gauze he'd gotten out and, after hesitating for a moment, the small canister of green eco that he'd put aside – just in case. "Don't tell Mom," Torn told Ripp, indicating the eco canister, "She wouldn't be too happy about me using some of this." He poured a small amount of eco onto the bandage and then rubbed the gauze together to fully coat it in the green substance. When he was finished, the white of the gauze had been tinted a barely visible green. Torn grinned. "Can't even tell. Just enough to make sure you won't get infected. Hopefully it'll prevent you from scarring too much either. Hold out your arm." He waited until Ripp did so. "This  _shouldn't_ sting," he said as he started wrapping the bandage around Ripp's wound. Torn finished and tied it off, saying, "There, good as new."

Ripp inspected his brother's handiwork critically. "Remind me again why you're not going to med school," he said.

Torn laughed and ruffled Ripp's hair. He lifted Ripp from the counter and set him down on the floor. "I belong in the Guard, trust me," Torn said. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the door. "Do you reckon Mom and Dad are still arguing?"

Ripp nodded enthusiastically. "They started right after you left. I don't think they're ever going to stop."

"Well that's encouraging," Torn said, "Let's see if I can't do something about it."

* * *

Torn waited outside the kitchen for a few minutes, listening to the argument within. From the sounds of his father's slurred speech, it seemed that Simius had gotten into the liquor cabinet. Dread settled in the pit of Torn's stomach and he had the distinct feeling that he would be considerably safer taking on a scout party of metalhead grunts with his bare hands than he would be going in  _that_ deathtrap.

Juska's voice came from inside the kitchen, "I knew sending him to that camp was a bad idea! I knew it was! If you hadn't insisted-"

"Insisted  _what_?" Simius interrupted. "That our son learns basic defense skills? If I'd left it up to you, Torn would be nothin' but a wimp! Just like his good-fer-nothin' brother!"

Torn glanced back at Ripp. "Go wait in your room, kiddo." It wasn't a suggestion, but an order.

"But, Torn," Ripp began to protest.

Torn shook his head, turning back towards the kitchen. " _Now_ , Ripp," he commanded, making it perfectly clear that this was now a closed discussion. He didn't watch as Ripp left, but he heard the boy go. Whether or not Ripp was actually going to his room or not, Torn couldn't be sure, not that it mattered. Just as long as Ripp was out of the way.

Torn took a deep breath, steeled himself for the worst and prepared to confront his parents. Saying a mental prayer to the precursors that he'd make it back out alive, Torn walked into the kitchen.

There were several empty liquor bottles strewn across the counter, pieces of what appeared to be a smashed plate littered the floor and a coffee cup on the table had been knocked over, its contents spilling all over the wood. Torn edged around the shattered pieces of plate as he got closer to his parents.

Simius was on his feet, though he appeared to be having trouble keeping his balance. He pointed a single threatening finger at his wife with a wavering hand. Juska, too, was standing, hands on her hips as she glared her husband down.

"Don't you  _dare_  threaten me, you…you  _drunk_!" Juska sneered.

Torn took a moment to marvel at his ability to have missed the sudden change in topic, or at least to have missed the most recent exchange.

The man was about to reply when his drunken gaze turned to Torn. "What the  _hell_  do you want,  _Krimzon Git_?" he demanded, pointing somewhere to the right of Torn's head. Juska turned to look at her son.

Torn bristled at the comment. "I'll show you a crimson git!" he snarled, eyes narrowing menacingly. His fists clenched as he glared at his father.

"Stay out of this, you little traitor," Juska hissed at her son.

"Make me, why don't you?" Torn said, all thought of putting an end to the argument now gone from his head.

* * *

Shut away in his room, Ripp looked up as he heard a third voice coming from the kitchen. His heart sank. It was one he knew all too well; it was Torn's. He got up and moved to sit against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. The boy shivered and it had nothing to do with the cool temperature of his room. He felt torn, torn between hiding in his room and waiting for the fight to end, or running downstairs to try and be back-up for his brother.

Ripp stood and took a few steps towards the door, reaching for the knob, but he pulled away before making contact. He looked at the deep red stain on his shirt and bit his lower lip. His shoulder was throbbing, a strong reminder of what had happened he had dared to cross the threshold to the room in which his parents' argument had been taking place. But Torn was there now… Surely that would mean that things had changed, at least a little. Ripp reached out to the door once more. But then again, Torn  _had_  been the one to send him to his room in the first place… He lowered his outstretched hand, just a bit, and sighed.

His morbid curiosity coupled with his loyalty to Torn seemed to be getting the better of him, overruling his fear and obedience. His mind made up, Ripp put his hand on the doorknob. A tremor shot up his spine as he pulled the door open. Taking a breath, he dashed out into the hallway and turned down towards the stairs.

* * *

Torn realized fairly quickly that getting into a three-way argument with his parents definitely wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done. The fact that Simius was, by this point, too drunk to think straight did nothing to help matters in the slightest. Torn had also quickly come to the conclusion the he had little to no chance of winning. He was fighting a losing battle and didn't even remember  _why_  anymore.

Simius had Torn by the collar of his shirt; his rank, foul breath washed over the teen, making him crinkle his nose and turn away. It was in this brief lull in the shouting that Torn heard it, the stairs creaked – just a little – as the only remaining person in the house came down them. It was then that Torn remembered what he was  _supposed_ to be doing. He'd told Ripp he'd try to make this better, and had done nothing but make it worse.

Torn shoved roughly away from Simius, surprising his drunken father enough to break his grip. Simius staggered back and barely caught himself on the counter, glaring at Torn through bleary eyes.

"This is ridiculous!" Torn snapped, "I don't know why you two can't settle things like the mature adults that parents are  _supposed_  to be! And I don't know how I let you drag me into this, but forget it!" He spun around and faced Juska. "Mom, I'm going to the Academy, whether you like it or not. Pull your head out of your ass and deal with it!" Without giving her a chance to speak, he turned back to Simius. "Dad, lay of the goddamn alcohol. You're setting one  _hell_  of an example."

Neither Simius or Juska spoke following this outburst. Torn spun on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen. He brushed past Ripp – who had just gotten close to the entrance of the kitchen again.

"I thought I told you to wait in your room," Torn hissed at the shaken boy. Ripp flinched like he'd been hit and took a few steps away from the enraged teen.

Torn stormed down the stairs to the front landing and grabbed his shoes, jamming them on without bothering to untie them first.

Ripp had skulked to the top of the stairs to watch him. "Torn, where are you-?" he began.

"Does it look like I give a damn where I'm going?" Torn snarled, "I'm going out!" He yanked open the front door and took a step out. "Away from  _them_!" and with this, he slammed the door shut behind him.


	5. Cooling Off

Torn didn't know how long he was out, and he didn't particularly care either. For a while he was tempted to go find Erol just so he'd have some company, but ultimately decided against it. He stomped along on the uneven cobblestone of Haven City's slums. He was still angry; angry with his parents, but at the same time he was angry at himself. Furious really, he didn't know how he'd let his temper get away from him so quickly.

The teen picked a spot on one of the raised parts of the cobblestone pavement and sat down. He ran his hand over the large, uneven stones before slipping a finger between the rocks to trace a random path through the dust. Torn sat back with a sigh, turning his blue gaze to sky to watch clouds float past. He straightened and wiped his hands off on his pants, leaving dirty finger marks in their wake.

Something green in the corner of his eye caught Torn's attention and he turned to see what it was. A small tuft of crabgrass had grown up through a crack in the sidewalk and he reached out to pluck one of the leaves. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at – but not truly seeing – it. For a while he considered trying to whistle with it but instead he cast it aside, not watching as it floated and twisted its way into the dust.

Again, he turned his eyes to the sky, for the first time noticing the pink hues creeping and mingling in amongst the blue. Behind him the sun was beginning to set and his tall, thin shadow stretched out before him. It was time to head home.

Torn stood up, brushed off his legs and started the trek back to his house.

* * *

Ripp was once again up in his room, lying on the floor where he doodled a shaking drawing on a piece of scrap paper he'd found. He scowled at his picture and looked around for his eraser. It was found lying somewhere near his right elbow and he grimaced slightly as the movement from picking it up aggravated the cluster of cuts on his shoulder.

Fixing his drawing with one final, contemplative look, Ripp rubbed the eraser furiously against the paper, clearing away most of his drawing in one go. He promptly erased any remaining marks and placed the now blank paper on his bookshelf. Scrap paper was too rare a luxury to simply throw away.

Ripp got to his feet and headed over to his window, standing on his bed to get a clear view of the street outside. Torn was still out there. Somewhere. It wasn't like Torn to miss a meal, not without a good reason. Ripp and his mother had eaten; Simius had passed out on the couch before Juska had finished making supper.

Small fingers found their way to the window latches and unlocked the window, opening it to allow fresh air come in. Ripp took a deep breath and sighed happily. Fall was coming; he could smell it in the air. Though he loved the smell of the coming season, which unfortunately meant that school was near.

Ripp hadn't particularly enjoyed his first two years of school. His quiet, reserved behaviour had deterred the other children from interacting with him, resulting in his role as something of an outsider. He saw no reason to expect it to change just because he was entering another year of school. Second grade would be no different than the preceding one had been.

He turned away from the window and looked around his room. It was plain and small, but he didn't really mind. It was  _his_  space and the thought was comforting. He stretched and winced as he pulled the cuts on his shoulder. Ripp hopped off his bed and stood, looking around his room. What was he going to do now?

His ears pricked at the sound of the front door closing – a sound that could only mean Torn was home. Ripp was tempted to run down to go greet his brother, but reconsidered when he recalled the foul mood that Torn had taken off in. The thought of confronting his brother in such a state for the second time in one day made his stomach hurt. He was all too familiar with what people were capable of with bad moods in control of their actions.

* * *

Torn kicked off his shoes without untying them. He headed up to kitchen; he was starving. First he'd missed lunch by spending time at the stadium with Erol and now he'd missed dinner as well. When Torn entered the kitchen, he was fully prepared to resort to whipping up some instant noodles to make up for the dinner he'd skipped. He was, therefore, particularly surprised to find Juska sitting at the table, calmly drinking a cup of coffee.

She looked up as he entered. "Hi, honey," she said, waving towards the counter on Torn's right. "Your supper's still on the counter, though you'll have to heat it up."

The teen froze and did an obvious double take.  _That_  wasn't like his mother at all. It simply wasn't in her nature to keep and set aside dinner for him, particularly not after an argument. He wasn't about to complain, however. As he picked up the plate of food and slid it into the microwave, he shot a glance over his shoulder at Juska. "Thanks, Mom," he said. The door to the microwave shut with a click and Torn set the timer for two and a half minutes.

They felt like the longest two and a half minutes of his life. A tense and awkward silence hung so thick in the kitchen it was practically tangible. Torn leaned against the counter, drumming his fingers against the edge as he waited. The whole time, Juska watched him with a look that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. For a while Torn entertained the notion that she might have done something to his food, like poison. Well, maybe not. Poison would be a little evil, some sort of drug then, something that would knock him out while she… While she  _what_? Torn barely managed to repress a shudder at the thought of his mother doing anything to him while he was asleep.

The microwave finally beeped and, after giving his food a few suspicious sniffs, Torn joined his mother at the table to eat. He kept watch on Juska out of the corner of his eye. Surely she was up to  _something_ , but what, he wasn't sure. Trying to puzzle out his mother's scheme was starting to make his head hurt and with everything that had gone on that day, the chances of getting a migraine from overthinking things were considerably higher than normal.

He polished off his food and stood, chair scraping back across the linoleum floor. He could feel Juska's eyes on him as he carried his plate to the sink for washing. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that she was still watching him. Feeling particularly ill at ease, he did his best to ignore the feeling of spiders crawling up his spine and instead turned his attention to the plate before him. He rinsed it off under the stream of water and gave it a quick scrub with the dish soap. If only there was something he could do to get rid of the tension; it seemed to be following him everywhere right now.

"Mom?" he asked, "You done?" He pointed to her coffee mug.

Juska blinked, giving her head a quick shake. Perhaps she  _hadn't_  been scheming, merely lost in thought. "Hmm? Oh! Yes." She got to her feet and handed Torn the cup. "Here you go. I'm going to go check on your father," she said. One hand was placed on his shoulder and she gave it a quick squeeze before exiting the kitchen.

Torn merely shrugged and washed his mother's mug, setting it to keep his plate company on the drying rack. A quick inspection of the kitchen revealed no other quick chore that required his attention, taking this as a sign that he was free, he headed to his room. Selecting a random book from his shelf, Torn sat down on his bed and began to read.

He hadn't gotten very far before the creaking of his door's hinges made him look up. Ripp stood apprehensively in the doorway. Torn dog-eared his page and set the book aside.

"Hey, kiddo. What's up?"

He didn't get an immediate reply, just Ripp fixing him with a pitiful look. He made no move to come closer, but he didn't leave either.

Torn sighed and patted the space next to him on the bed. "C'mere, you."

Ripp trudged over, looking morose. He didn't take the space next to Torn, instead opting to take a seat in Torn's lap, facing the older boy. His arms slithered around Torn's chest and he rested his head on his brother's shoulder, letting out a little sigh.

"What's wrong?"

Ripp just shrugged.

Torn gave him a gentle headbutt. "Don't give me that. Something's up."

Again, the only reply was a shrug.

"Spill," Torn insisted, accentuating the command with a poke to Ripp's ribs. The younger boy smacked his hand away. Torn scowled slightly. "You're the one who wandered in here looking like the world was about to end, and if you think that you can do  _that_  and not mention what's bothering y-"

"I don't like it when Dad gets angry," Ripp murmured, further burrowing against Torn's neck. "He's scary…"

Torn rested his cheek against Ripp's head and sighed. "I know, kid. I know."

Ripp's fingers dug into the fabric of Torn's shirt as he squeezed his brother tighter. "And then he drinks and it's worse. He yells a lot…" he trailed off and again his grip on Torn tightened.

"Don't listen to what he says when he's drunk, okay? He doesn't mean it." He didn't like lying to Ripp, but he preferred it over the alternative; Ripp simply wasn't ready to deal with that reality. Torn's extra seven years of experience dealing with Simius had allowed him to realize that things Simius said when enraged or inebriated were often the truest.

Ripp whimpered and sat up, drawing a shuddering breath. Torn ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Something else on your mind, Ripp?"he asked gently.

For a heartbeat, it seemed that Ripp's baleful look was the only reply that Torn was about to get. Then, Ripp shuddered, his gaze dropped and he choked on his next words. "I don't want you to go." He coughed and the tears began. "I want you to stay. I don't want you to leave me…"

Torn hugged him tightly. "It won't be so bad. I promise."

Ripp shook his head, pushing away slightly, still refusing to look at Torn. "You're going to leave me alone with just Mom and  _Dad_. Why can't you stay?  _Why_?" He was sobbing by then, small body shuddering. "I need you home."

"Ripp, it'll be okay." Torn moved one hand to tilt his brother's face up. He flinched at the tears on Ripp's cheeks. "You're going to go back to school and it's going to make you so busy that you're not going to have time to miss me. You'll never notice I'm gone. It's not forever."

"But-"

"I'll be home to visit on long weekends, and winter break, and spring break. Next year we'll have all summer. It'll be fine. Trust me."

Ripp bit his lower lip. Seconds later he'd latched onto Torn, face buried in his shirt.

"'M onna mif oo."

Torn nodded, hugging him tighter. "I'm gonna miss you too."

* * *

The next morning found the brothers curled up on Torn's bed, both still in their clothes. Ripp was snuggled up as close as possible, hiding in Torn's arms when he woke up. His attempt to sit up roused Torn and it was together that they ventured from his room and out into the rest of the house.

There was an oppressive need to be as quiet as possible, the hushed insistence of walking into a strict library. Simius was well hung over from the night before and both boys knew that the best way to avoid  _that_  nightmare was simply to remain quiet and out of his way.

Torn was in the hallway when he realized that his brother was no longer with him. He looked around, but couldn't see where the boy had gone. For a moment he was about to try calling for him, but caught himself just in time. It would do nothing more than bring Simius' wrath down upon him and  _that_ was the last thing anyone wanted. He sighed and leaned against the wall, wondering what to do. There wasn't a whole lot that could be done in the house, particularly not when Simius had a hangover.

Ripp slunk out of his room and crept over to Torn. He tugged on Torn's shirt. "Hey, are we allowed to talk yet?" he whispered.

The teen arched a would-be eyebrow at Ripp. "Why wouldn't we be allowed to talk?" he hissed back.

"Dad," said Ripp, flicking his head towards the living room.

Torn couldn't quite help grimacing. "We can  _talk_ ," he whispered, "But we probably should avoid being too much louder than that."

"Then why are we both still whispering?"

"Shut up."

It was at this point that the precarious silence of the household was entirely upset by the sharp trill of the telephone. A loud outburst from Simius followed shortly and Torn bolted for the phone. He grabbed it before the second ring had finished.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, is Torn there?" Erol's voice asked from the other end of the phone. He sounded oddly chipper that morning and Torn couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked.

Erol was straight to the point. "You still up for dreads? Shari said she had time to do them for you today if you're interested."

"Shari?" Torn asked.

"Future step-mum. Remember? Anyway, if you're busy or whatever, she said she could find another time that works better."

Torn shook his head, despite knowing that Erol couldn't see him. "No. Today's fine. What time?"

He could practically hear Erol's indifferent shrug through the phone. "Now works."

"Sure. Not like I'm doing anything right now." Torn glanced up as Ripp skulked into the kitchen. "Hey, Erol?"

"What?"

"You wouldn't care if I brought Ripp with me, would you?" Torn grinned slightly at the confused look that Ripp was giving him. No doubt it was extremely similar to the one that Erol was giving his phone.

"Um…Sure? Bring the little monster. Why?" Erol's voice seemed baffled by the request.

Torn cast a wary glance at the entrance to the kitchen. "Dad was kinda binging last night, so… _major_  hangover. And, y'know, it's just better to stay away from him in that state."

"Right.  _So_  would not want to be around your dad right now. So I guess I'll see you and the brat in a few minutes then?" Erol asked, still sounding far more cheerful than could be good for him.

"Yeah, be right over. Sounds like  _you're_  at least having a good day."

"Don't be stupid. I never do." This statement was followed by a click and the phone fell silent.

Torn rolled his eyes and hung up. He turned to his brother and flicked his head towards the front door. "C'mon, Ripp. We're going to Erol's for a bit."

 


	6. Schoolyard Brawls and Lost Tempers

Time seemed to pass too quickly for both Torn and Ripp's liking and before either was prepared for it, it was the last Friday that Torn would be spending at home for a long time. Torn, at least, found the whole thing to have a bittersweet tone to it. While it was exciting to take the first step towards becoming an independent, functioning member of society, the idea of leaving behind his childhood was decidedly painful.

The teen was standing in the kitchen, staring contemplatively at the countertop when Ripp came downstairs sporting his backpack over one shoulder. Torn looked up as Ripp entered the kitchen.

"Hey, you ready?" Torn asked.

Ripp simply shrugged. "I guess so." He smiled, asking, "Are  _you_  ready?"

Torn laughed, a single hoarse bark of amusement. " _Me_?" he asked, " _I_  don't have anywhere go to."

The younger boy's eyebrows drew together, creating creases over his nose as he scowled in confusion, cocking his head to the side. "You're taking me to school, aren't you?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "You are, right?"

Torn tried to look as though he were mulling the matter over. He didn't quite get it right. "You're going to need to get used to going by yourself, cause once Monday comes around, I'm not going to be here to take you anymore."

Ripp fixed Torn with a pleading look, seeming terrified of the notion. He stuck his lower lip out, pouting. "But…Torn…" He darted over and seized his brother in a terrified hug, squeezing him around the middle. "I don't wanna go by myself. Not until I have to." He turned his accusing blue gaze up to meet Torn's. "Please?"

A wry laugh escaped the teen and he couldn't resist giving Ripp's hair one of his customary rufflings. "How can I say no to that face? I'll go get my shoes."

The two boys left a couple minutes later with Ripp leading; Torn purposely lagged behind, curious to see how well Ripp had been paying attention on their previous trips to his school. He seemed to know his way pretty well. There was one fork in the road where the boy hesitated and turned right. Torn had coughed the word 'left' into his hand, unable to resist correcting him. Apart from that mistake, however, it was clear that Ripp was perfectly capable of navigating his way.

Torn walked Ripp up to the front get of the elementary school. He gave his brother an approving pat on the shoulder. "Not bad," he said, "I might be here after school, but if I'm not just start on your own and I'll meet you halfway. Got it?"

Ripp nodded. "Got it." He gave Torn a quick hug before heading onto the compound to await the morning bell.

* * *

Recess had never exactly been Ripp's favourite time of the day. While most of the other kids rushed out in a mad stampede, Ripp tended to hang back and wait for the tidal wave of students to pass. He skulked out of the doors and into the sunlight, trying not to be noticed, it was better that way. He kept near the school wall, creeping from shadow to shadow.

"Hey, you!"

So much for going unnoticed. Ripp froze for a moment, halfway between shadows before he turned to face the speaker.

It had been a sixth grader, easily twice Ripp's size, who had spoken. He was flanked by two other boys, both of whom, though slightly smaller than him, appeared no less menacing. He stood there, scowling down at the younger boy.

"I'm going to make something clear to you,  _runt_ ," he snarled, "You're in  _my_ territory. I don't like it when people are in  _my_  territory." He turned his attention momentarily from Ripp, looking at his companions. "Whaddya say boys? Should we teach him a lesson?"

Ripp felt the blood drain from his face. He knew what that meant, and he didn't like it. He took a few steps back. "You don't want to do that," he said, voice wavering.

The boy leaned forward, leering at the second grader. "I don't, don't I?" He laughed cruelly. "And why would that be?" His rank, foul breath washed over Ripp, causing the younger boy to wrinkle his nose.

Ripp shuffled uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked up at the boy and said, "My brother's a Krimzon Guard. He won't like it if you hurt me."

This comment merely earned a snort. "Like I'm scared of some stupid KG. Only an idiot would enlist."

Fists clenched as Ripp glared at the sixth grader, his fear was gone, quickly being replaced with rage. That was  _his_  brother that this boy was insulting.

"Everyone in the KG's just some moron who doesn't know how to think for themselves. The only thing that the soldiers are good for is throwing in front of the enemy so they can die instead of us. They're just a bunch of drones. Worthless, replaceable drones whose only purpose is to di-"

"Shut up!" Ripp shouted, giving the larger boy a hard shove. "Shut up!"

A smirk and arched eyebrow was all he got for his efforts. "And why would I want to do that?"

For a moment Ripp's eyes closed; when they reopened they were cold, hard and full of hatred. "Because I told you to," he hissed.

Cold laughter met this reply. "Because you told me to?"

"Fine. You want a reason?" Ripp asked icily. "Here's a reason!" His fist shot out and collided with the older boy's nose. There was a satisfying crack and blood began to leak from his left nostril.

The blood was wiped away on the boy's sleeve. "You little punk!" he yelled, grabbing Ripp roughly by the shoulders. "You're going to pay for that!"

Ripp's entire body was jarred as he was slammed into the brick wall of the school, shocks running through his spine. He couldn't quite hold back a yelp.

"No one hits me and gets away with it!  _Nobody_!" He raised a hand to strike, but Ripp was faster.

The young boy used the wall to launch himself at the sixth grader. He slammed into the older boy with enough force to send them both sprawling across the pavement. Ripp recovered first, springing to his feet, fists up, fully prepared to block an assault. As his opponent began to get to his feet, Ripp charged him again, driving him to the ground once more in a rough tackle.

By this time some of the other kids had noticed the scuffle and the beginnings of a circle was forming around the two boys. Most of the newcomers were cheering and egging the fight on. It became apparent fairly quickly that  _no one_  was on Ripp's side. It didn't matter to him. All that Ripp cared for was attacking the boy who had dared to insult his brother.

"C'mon, Caito! Show the little brat who's boss!" someone shouted.

Caito broke free from Ripp's commanding grip and grabbed the smaller boy, flipping him to the ground where he pinned him. He landed a few solid blows before Ripp managed to break free once more.

"Stay down, you little twerp!"

Ripp didn't reply immediately. The pair of them circled each other, fists raised threateningly once more.

"I have more experience with this sort of thing than you'd expect," Ripp snarled at Caito. His tone was harsh, dangerous.

Caito smirked and wiped his still bleeding nose on his sleeve once more. His breathing was heavy and uneven; it was clear, however, that he was far from giving up. He sneered, saying, "You mean you brawl regularly with your moron KG brother?"

Ripp let out a yell of rage and the next thing Caito knew, he'd been pinned to concrete, Ripp's fist connection repeatedly with his face. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Ripp screeched, "You don't know  _anything_!" He had Caito's collar gripped tightly in his left hand, his right continued to pound into the older boy's face with no sign of stopping.

Caito started struggling against him then, screaming for help, but no one moved. A tight circle of students had formed to watch the fistfight, blocking the brawl from view. By the time one of the teachers on supervision noticed the commotion, Caito was in tears and Ripp had begun screaming abuse that no one would have expected a seven-year-old to know.

A shrill, piercing whistle split the air and the circle of students scattered. A second teacher was quick to come to the aid of the first. It took the full effort of both adults to haul the still furious Ripp off of Caito and a third to tend to the older boy. Both boys were then marched down to the office where they were placed under the supervision of an eagle-eyed secretary to await the contacting of their parents.

* * *

Torn was in the middle of cleaning his room when the phone rang. He dashed out of his room to grab the receiver. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello. Is Ms. Juska there?" a no-nonsense voice asked.

The teen cast a quick glance up the hall towards his parents room – the room that Juska was resting in. She'd taken ill on Tuesday and Torn was reluctant to disturb her.

"No. Sorry," he said, not at all apologetically, "Can I pass on a message?" He'd started for the kitchen counter to grab a pen and paper, holding the phone in place with his shoulder.

"In regards to her son, Ripp, he was in a schoolyard fight with another boy today at recess. We require the presence of a parent or guardian to come speak with the principal and collect Ripp from school."

The phone clattered to the floor. Torn scrambled to pick it up once more.

"Ripp did w _hat_?" He had to have heard wrong. A fight? No… Not Ripp…

If the woman on the other end of the line was startled by the sound of the dropping phone, it wasn't apparent. "He and another student engaged in violent physical contact today at recess. They had a fight. We will attempt to contact his father to remove him from school grounds. Thank you. Good day."

"Wait!" Torn practically yelled. "I can come get him."

_This_ , at least, seemed to startle the woman. "Are you Mr. Simius?" she asked.

"No…" he admitted, "I'm his older brother."

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "I don't see you as an emergency contact for Ripp."

Torn bit his lip. "I…uh…I'm not quite…legal yet," he said slowly. "My dad works on the other side of the city, it'll take over an hour for him to get back down here." If only he were eighteen… Then he could've actually been appointed as Ripp's guardian and be free to act as he saw fit. "I know my parents will let me act on behalf of them. I'll ensure that they know about the incident and I can come take Ripp off your hands…"

"I'm not sure I can allow-"

"Please, it'll be easier for everyone."

There was a prolonged pause followed by a sigh. "Very well. We'll be waiting for you in the office."

* * *

Ripp sat in one of the office chairs, staring at his hands. The knuckles of his right hand were bruised and starting to swell slightly, he bent his fingers experimentally and flinched; the nurse had offered him some ice, but he'd declined. It was a choice he was beginning to regret.

His blue eyes were down cast and he barely moved. A couple chairs over sat Caito, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his nose with wads of Kleenex. The sixth grader was easily in rougher shape out of the two of them.

Ripp's shoulders hunched and he curled up slightly in his seat. ' _Dad's going to come_ ,' he thought miserably, ' _Mom's too sick; it's got to be Dad_.' That was about the last thing he wanted. He shivered, thinking about what it would mean having Simius come get him. A shudder ran up his spine; he didn't want to think about what his father would do to him. He closed his eyes and bit his split lower lip. Already, he could practically hear his father's loud voice, see the raised hand before the impending blow, feel the sting in his cheek as the sound of the slap began to fade away…

This train of thought was derailed by the sound of the office door opening. Ripp opened his eyes slowly, steeling himself to face his father.

It wasn't Simius. The bottom dropped out of Ripp's stomach. Instead of his father, a very familiar teenager walked into the office and he  _didn't_  look pleased. The scowl on his face was accented by the abstract blue lines covering his forehead. A tremor of fear ran through Ripp; Simius he'd expected, Simius he could've handled. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that Torn would be the one to come.

* * *

Torn noticed Ripp the moment he walked into the office and he purposely avoided looking in his little brother's direction. He didn't know what he was going to say to the boy and didn't trust himself enough to keep calm through the conversation. Meeting Ripp's principal in a fury would likely do nothing more than aggravate the whole situation.

Instead of heading for his brother, Torn looked straight at the secretary and walked to her desk. She glanced up as he approached. Her brow furrowed in confusion and when she spoke, her voice betrayed her slight fear. "Can I help you?" she asked.

Torn crossed his arms over his chest and flicked his head in the direction of his brother. "I'm here about Ripp."

"Oh." Why exactly she seemed so relieved, Torn couldn't say, but the woman relaxed visibly. "The principal is waiting for you in his office." There was a moment's hesitation before she indicated a door on Torn's left.

Nodding his thanks, Torn went over to the indicated door and walked in.

* * *

Ripp sucked a nervous breath through his teeth when he watched his brother walk into the principal's office. Nothing good could possibly come of this.

It was a short while later that a woman came into the office. She spoke curtly with the secretary and took the seat next to Caito. Ripp couldn't help watching her as she conversed with the older boy. Their conversation was short and finished with her casting a scathing look in Ripp's direction.

He looked away quickly, gaze drawn back to his battered hands as he tried to fight the sudden feelings of self-consciousness. It took him a moment to realize that the woman was, in fact, Caito's mother. With this realization came the understanding of exactly what the look had meant. He was the boy who had dared to harm her son… It made his heart ache. Not for the first time in his short life, Ripp wished that his own mother was stronger, that just once she would hold him in her arms and stare down a threat… That she'd protect him the way mothers were supposed to protect their children.

He could feel the eyes of Caito's mother on him; it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He shifted uncomfortably and didn't look her way again.

* * *

The principal looked at Torn over the rim of his glasses, expression grave. "I sincerely hope you understand the severity of this matter."

Torn nodded. "I do, sir." He lapsed easily into the meek and docile appearance that he usually kept reserved for dealings with the councilors at the KG camp.

"And because you're underage, I will still require proof that your parents know of this matter." The man reached into a drawer on his desk and pulled out a piece of paper. "I'm going to write up a note and I expect you to deliver it to your parents," he said as he began to write furiously on the page. "If I don't get this back by Monday after school, I'll be calling your parents  _personally_."

Again, Torn nodded. Dimly he wondered why he felt like he was the one who'd gotten in trouble. He took the offered note and folded it haphazardly in half. "I'll see that they get it." He stood, tucking the paper away. "This may not seem like much, coming from someone who's  _underage_ , but I assure you, this won't happen again."

The principal got to his feet as well. "I should certainly hope not," he replied, nodding curtly. "See your parents get that."

Torn scowled and nodded yet again. "Yes, sir." Without waiting for a proper dismissal, the teen turned and opened the door, muttering, "Trust me, it  _won't_  happen again." He reentered the main office and found his gaze drawn to Ripp. His brother was sitting exactly as he'd been before Torn gone to speak with the principal. The seven-year-old looked up as he approached.

"So," Torn said, coming to stand in front his brother, hands on his hips, "Got anything to say for yourself, brat?"

Ripp cringed. Usually, coming from Torn, being called 'brat' was an endearing term, but not this time. He shook his head and looked at the ground.

Torn knelt so he was eye level with Ripp, he reached out and tilted his brother's face up to look at him. "Ripp."

The boy twisted his head free and went back to staring at the floor.

"Ripp, look at me," Torn insisted, trying again to force the boy to meet his gaze. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of a red mark on Ripp's left cheek that would leave a nasty bruise. Ripp tried to twist his head free again, but Torn's grip was unrelenting. "I just want to know," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice calm and even, "Who threw the first punch?"

Ripp pulled Torn's hand away so he could flick his head towards Caito. "He started it."

Torn nodded solemnly and made a move to stand, halfway up, he froze and looked sternly at Ripp. "Hang on. You  _are_  saying that  _he_  hit  _you_  first, right?"

Ripp squirmed beneath Torn's gaze. "He started it," he repeated, refusing to meet his brother's icy eyes.

A furrow formed in the middle of Torn's brow. Surely Ripp wasn't trying to be difficult. "That's the same answer. Who threw the first punch?" he demanded, still caught awkwardly between standing and kneeling.

It was a shock when Ripp suddenly shot to his feet and seized Torn around the middle. "I'm sorry!" he cried, "I'm sorry!"

For a moment Torn stood there, uncomprehending; then, everything fell into place. Torn's eyes widened and a scowl formed on his face. "You started it," he said quietly, dazed by the notion. "You.  _You_?  _Why_?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry!" Ripp repeated. "He made me mad! He wouldn't shut up!"

Torn blinked. This was almost too much to wrap his head around. Ripp lost his temper? Ripp  _had_  a temper? "I can't believe this. Let go of me." Torn's voice was flat, stern. Anger and annoyance flashed in his eyes as he looked at Ripp. The mere notion that Ripp would initiate a fistfight was not only past comprehension, but disgusting beyond belief; Ripp was supposed to know better. "Go get your backpack. We're leaving."

Alarmed, Ripp asked, "But what about the rest of school?"

Torn pulled Ripp's hands off of him. "You've been sent home. You'll come back on Monday. Now  _go get your backpack_."

* * *

Torn took the walk home at a brisk pace, each one of his steps requiring Ripp to make at least three running steps to keep up.

"Torn, please! Slow down! I can't keep up!" pleaded Ripp, fighting to keep pace with his brother.

Ripp watched his brother look over his shoulder at him. "Why?" Torn snarled, "You know the way home, it's not my problem if you get left behind."

"But, Torn-!"

"Not. My. Problem."

Ripp's lower lip trembled, but he fought back the tears, running to stay relatively close to Torn. His backpack, however, was slowing him down and it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, all he managed to do was lose ground.

"Torn, slow down! Please! My backpack's heavy!"

Torn whirled around. "Quit complaining!" he snapped, "I doubt it weighs ten pounds. Now  _hurry up_  or I  _will_  leave you behind."

Ripp stopped as though he'd just walked into a brick wall. Colour fled his cheeks and he stared, aghast, at his brother. For a moment it looked as though there were something he desperately wanted to say, but his head dropped, shoulders hunching as he grappled with the impending tears.

The teen shook his head and turned, walking away again. "It's not my fault if you get lost!" he called back over his shoulder. "In fact, I almost wish you  _would_."

Rooted to the spot, horrified by Torn's words, Ripp swayed as though he'd just taken a physical blow. His vision blurred and a sob escaped him. Torn didn't mean it, did he? Surely he didn't… Ripp forced himself to take a step forward, then another, and another. Soon, what started out as a trudging walk escalated into an all-out sprint. He didn't want to get left behind.

* * *

Despite what Torn had said, he had stopped and was waiting for Ripp just around the next corner. After all, it wasn't  _entirely_  Ripp's fault. The past few weeks had been stressful and wearing; Torn was having a harder time coping with his emotions. Knowing that Ripp had instigated the fight…well it was just too much to handle all at once.

He watched Ripp round the corner; tears were sliding silently down his little brother's cheeks. There was a small part of him that demanded he go comfort Ripp, that he walk over and give the boy a hug and apology, but… Torn just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not right then. If he allowed himself to care, then there was no saying what other emotions might get away from him. His anger had waned, but not enough for him to trust himself. Who knew what might happen if he allowed it to get away from him again?

They weren't far from home and Torn allowed Ripp to set the pace for the remainder of the walk. When they arrived at the house, Torn opened the door and walked in, holding it open for Ripp. The look that Ripp gave him made Torn's heart lurch. There was terror in his eyes and when Torn reached out to take his backpack, the younger boy jumped as though he were afraid that he was about to be hit.

As he took Ripp's bag, Torn was forced to admit that it  _was_  fairly weighty to expect a second-grader to carry. He set it on the floor and gave Ripp a gentle nudge in the shoulder with his hand.

"Go to your room. I'll be up to talk to you in a while."

A terrified nod from Ripp and then he scurried away up the hall. Mere seconds later Torn hear the door to Ripp's room click shut.

The teen walked into the kitchen, drawing the principal's note from his pocket. He used a magnet to stick it to the fridge, hopefully that would be enough of a reminder to show his parents. Torn cast a glance at the clock to make note of the time, eleven thirty-one. Seven minutes.

He walked over to the kitchen counter and looked at the coffee maker. There was a moment's hesitation before he switched it on. It would give him a mild distraction at least.

As the coffee began to brew, he looked over at the clock again; five more minutes. The coffee was done with one minute to spare. The appliance was far from high quality, but at least it was fast. With the amount of hangovers that took place with Simius in the house, everyone in the family was more than willing to make the sacrifice for speed.

Torn put his hands on his hips and stared at the coffee pot. "What the hell did I do that for?" He grabbed the pot and glared at the brown liquid inside before pouring it down the sink. Thirty seconds left. He'd feel guilty about wasting the coffee later. Giving the coffee pot a quick rinse, he set it down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen. It was time to go talk with his little brother.

* * *

Ripp sat on the floor in the middle of his room waiting for Torn to come. He knew he'd be alone for a little under ten minutes and wasn't surprised when his door opened just after the seven minute mark. Torn walked in and closed the door behind him. The teen looked tired, a fact which surprised Ripp; the last couple weeks really  _had_  been wearing on everyone it seemed. At least Torn appeared to have calmed down. Ripp said nothing, simply waited for Torn to begin their discussion.

Torn sighed and ran a hand back over his dreads. He walked to Ripp and sat down in front of him. For a moment the two of them did nothing more than look at each other; Torn sighed again.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked.

Ripp squirmed and looked away. "I already told you," he mumbled, "He made me mad."

"Yeah, alright, but… I just… I don't get it. How'd he make you mad?"

"Just stuff he was saying," Ripp said, shrugging, his gaze still fixed pointedly  _not_  on Torn.

The older boy didn't appear pleased with this answer, but didn't press for details. "Alright…I suppose." There was a moment of silence between the two again, before Torn dared venture his next question. "Where'd you pick up that kind of behavior? I've never done that sort of thing around you."

"Do you do it when I'm not around?" Ripp asked.

"That," Torn said firmly, "is beside the point. I mean, me and Erol have gotten into a few scraps before, but nothing like you and that kid."

Ripp glanced up before quickly looking away again. "Really?"

"Really. Ripp, do you understand what you did out there?" Torn asked. "Among all the superficial injuries you gave him, you broke that kid's nose."

The younger boy clapped his hands over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He appeared horrified by what he'd done. At least, it seemed that way until a snort of laughter escaped him and he lapsed into a small giggle fit.

"Ripp, this is serious!"

"I know, but… His  _nose_? How do you break a nose? They're all cartilage!"

In spite of himself, Torn let out a small laugh. "Now you're really beside the point. It doesn't matter  _how_  you do it, the point is you  _did_  it."

"But…" Ripp said, frowning, "it's not possible to break someone's ear… and those are all cartilage too."

Torn rolled his eyes. "I'm not about to have an in depth discussion with you about the structure of noses." Before Ripp could protest, Torn continued, "My point is,  _where_  did you learn that? What made you think that punching him was going to fix anything?"

Ripp looked at his hands folded in his lap. "I don't know…"

"I don't get it." Torn ran a hand back over his dreads again, and then sighed. Not having unbound hair was taking some getting used to. "If  _he'd_  hit you first, I'd completely understand." He pointed a finger at Ripp, adding, "That doesn't mean it would be  _right_ , but I'd get it then." He shook his head. "I can't believe you started it."

"Sorry…"

"It's alright, Ripp. I'm just disappointed."

The younger boy nodded solemnly, biting his lower lip. Something in the way Torn had said it made it worse than if he'd said he was mad or upset. He'd disappointed his brother; the notion hurt.

"Your principal said you were throwing around some pretty foul language at the end. I know I didn't teach you that, so wher-?"

"Dad."

Torn flinched. "Don't copy Dad; he's not exactly the most shining role model."

"I wasn't trying to!" Ripp cried. "It just…It just sort of happened!"

"Try to make sure it doesn't happen again, okay? It's a bad habit to get into."

Ripp nodded, looking away once more. He was surprised by Torn's hand on his head.

"You're a good kid, Ripp. You just screwed up this time," Torn said, ruffling his brother's hair. Ripp looked at him and seemed halfway to tears. Upon seeing this, Torn pulled him into a tight hug, burying his nose in Ripp's hair. "Sorry I told you to get lost earlier."

Ripp's grip tightened. "It's okay," he whispered. "I forgive you."

Torn squeezed Ripp even tighter for a moment. "You are  _such_  a good kid," he muttered before letting go. "Now…" He stood and brushed down the front of his pants. "I've got to go finish cleaning my room and pack."

Ripp paled. "You're not leaving yet, are you?"

"Early Monday."

"Oh. So why are-?"

Torn interrupted with a laugh. "C'mon, you don't honestly think I'm going to waste my last weekend here  _packing_ , do you?"

Ripp considered this. "No, I guess not." He watched as Torn walked to the door and pulled it open. "Hey, Torn?"

"What?"

"What do you think is heavy?"

The teen blinked a couple times and looked back over his shoulder. "That's kinda out of the blue, isn't it?"

"Well, earlier you said my backpack wasn't heavy… So I was wondering what you thought would count."

This comment earned a sigh. Torn let go of the door and leaned against the frame, staring off into space. After a moment he said, "Forty kilos." He looked over at Ripp. "You remember when I was telling you about that navigation race?"

Ripp nodded, hand going to clutch the fang hanging from his neck.

"Yeah, when I had both packs, that's about how much they weighed." Torn rolled his eyes at the look on Ripp's face; the boy seemed confused by this answer. He sighed and said, "Eighty-eight pounds, you little non-metrically minded twerp."

Ripp giggled. "Metric's just  _stupid_."

"No, metric makes  _sense_. Now, I'm going to go finish what I was doing before I was so kindly interrupted by that phone call."

The younger boy fixed Torn with a hopeful look. "Can I come?"

"I'm just cleaning, but sure, knock yourself out."

Ripp scrambled to his feet and was quick to follow his brother out the door.


	7. Clean Rooms and Broken Dishes

It was hours before Torn had finally finished cleaning his room, Ripp spectating the whole time from the bed. The teen looked around his room and cringed. It was too neat. At least it was off his list of things to do; once he packed he'd be free to do whatever he wanted. He sighed and took the suitcase from the foot of his bed.

"Scoot over, brat," Torn said, flicking his wrist at Ripp.

Obediently, Ripp shifted to the right. "Your room looks really weird."

"You don't say," Torn muttered as he put the suitcase on the bed and unzipped it. "I really hate cleaning, you know?"

Ripp nodded. "All the complaining kinda tipped me off."

This comment drew a grin from Torn. "You know what I'm going to do when I get a place of my own?" he asked. Without waiting for Ripp to answer, he continued, "Mess it up."

After giggling for a few moments, Ripp managed to ask, "Really?"

"Really." Torn glanced around, hands on his hips. "Now, where did I put it?" He let out a growl of irritation. "I hate this. I can't ever find anything in a clean room. What'd I bother putting it away for?"

"Put what away for?"

Torn waved the question away, grimacing. "When I find it again, I'll show you." He walked over to his closet and heaved it open. "I probably put it in here… Logical place for it." Ignoring Ripp's continued inquiries as to what he was searching for, Torn began rooting through the closet. It only took a couple minutes to locate. Torn hefted the box up and carried it to his bed, setting it down on his bed next to the suitcase. The angry insignia of the Krimzon Guard glared at him and Ripp from the top of the box.

"Guess I  _can_  find stuff in a clean room after all," Torn said, grinning slightly. His amused expression faded as he lifted the lid of the box.

Ripp clambered over for a closer look. "What is it?" he asked.

"The bane of my existence," Torn said dryly, "Alternatively called my uniform." He pulled one of the items from the box and unfolded it with a flick of his wrist. "See?"

In Torn's hand was a sleeveless red and black shirt emblazoned with the logo of the KG on the left shoulder. Still nestled in the box were the remaining components of the uniform; another shirt, two pairs of red and black pants, and a thick leather belt. Completing the set was a pair of spiked, black combat boots.

Ripp gaped at it. "They make you wear that?"

"Yep." Torn sighed. "I hate uniforms."

"Why?" Ripp asked, "It's not like a suit and tie or anything. It's not  _that_  bad."

Torn rolled his eyes. "The uniform itself is pretty alright. I just don't like the concept." He shrugged and folded up the shirt he'd taken out. "Just something I'll have to get used to though."

It took surprisingly little time to pack, though this was likely due to the restrictions placed on Torn by the academy; cadets were allowed very little in the way of personal belongings. Torn finished and zipped up the suitcase and then stood there looking at it. His whole life was now contained in one bag. He had everything he'd ever need, at least according to the standards of the academy; it seemed so weird.

Torn looked up to find Ripp watching him. "What?"

"I'm hungry. When's dinner?"

The teenager shrugged. "When Dad gets home." He turned his attention to the clock on his wall. Somehow it was already half past six. "Wonder what's keeping him."

"Dunno," Ripp said sourly, a scowl crossing his face.

Torn flicked his brother in the forehead. "Don't be like that." He merely got Ripp's stuck out tongue as a reply. He reached out to pat Ripp on the head and then stopped, examining his brother's face. "Look at me for a sec?" He waited until Ripp was fully facing him before reaching out to grab his sibling by the jaw and pull him close.

Ripp instantly tensed, a fact that Torn did not miss.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to look." A dark mark had spent the afternoon blossoming on Ripp's left cheek, a nasty purple-black marring the side of the boy's face. With his free hand, Torn flicked on his bedside lamp and angled the light so he could better look at the bruise. He'd been hoping that it was a trick of the dim lighting, that it wasn't as bad as it looked. It was. Frowning, the teen gave the mark a small poke with his finger. Ripp winced.

"That hurt?"

Ripp nodded as best he could with Torn still gripping him by the jaw. "Yeah, a little."

"Figured it would. That's a nice bruise you've got there."

"Why thank you, I've been working on it," Ripp said, giving Torn a toothy grin. Moments later, he was batting Torn's hands away. " _Quit_  it. Leave my hair alone!" He succeeded only in making Torn laugh and receiving an extra bought of hair mussing. "Torn, stop!" he squealed, struggling to fight off the teen's determined pestering.

The siblings' scuffle was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and someone entering their house. Torn looked up from his merciless tickling of the helplessly pinned Ripp.

"Dad's home." He straightened and offered Ripp a hand up, flicking his head at the bedroom door. "Off to your room, I need to talk to Dad."

Ripp pouted. "Do I hafta?"

"Do you  _want_  to be around when I'm telling Dad about what you did today?"

The boy paled; he slid off Torn's bed and was out the door without another word. His abrupt departure was followed closely by the soft click of his bedroom door shutting behind him.

Simius' voice was loud in the quiet of the house as he called out for his eldest, "Torn!"

"In my room!" Torn hollered back. This was closely followed by the creak of the stairs as Simius ascended. The squealing protest of the hinges on Torn's door announced the man's arrival into his son's room; the teen couldn't quite help flinching at the sound, he'd forgotten about greasing that.

"Squeaky door," Simius commented, chuckling.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Torn muttered back through clenched teeth. He received a an amused slap on the back from his father, the force of which caused his knees to buckle slightly. "So," the teen said, smirking, "You're home late."

"Well, I had to pick something up," Simius said, his tone akin to what one would use while commenting on the weather. It was at that point that Torn noticed that one hand was concealed behind the man's back.

The teen arched one half of his still hairless brow. "Something like what?"

Simius brought his hand out from behind his back, in it was grasped a sizeable, expensive-looking black box. He held it out to his son and Torn inwardly cringed – how much had _that_  cost?

"Something like this. Here. It's for you."

Torn looked from his father to the proffered box and back. Tentatively, he reached out to take it, withdrew his hands and then, after hesitating again, took the box.

"What is it?"

Simius chuckled – he seemed in oddly bright spirits. "Open it and find out."

Still appearing sceptical, Torn turned the box over in his hands, searching for any sign of a scuff, a scratch, some sort of damage. He found nothing. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he attempted a nonchalant shrug and flipped open the clasp. He'd scarcely opened the lid and glanced at the item contained inside before he snapped the box closed once more. "No. No, no, no." He shook his head as he held the container back out, determined to hand it back to his father.

The man simply pressed it back into Torn's hand. "At least  _look_  at it before you reject your present," he chided.

Torn sighed. He put his fingers on the catch once more and flicked it open. Taking a deep breath, the teen lifted the lid again, this time opening the box completely. Nestled inside the case was a fine, curved dagger, still in its sheath. He cast the box to his bed, showing surprisingly little regard for the case, eyes focused only on the knife he now held. For the briefest second, his gaze wavered, flickering to Simius. The man merely nodded his approval.

"Sheath too?" Torn asked.

Again, Simius nodded. "Sheath too."

"Knew you'd say that." Gingerly, Torn wrapped his hand around the sheath. Gripping the knife firmly, he took hold of the handle and began to pull the weapon free. The moment he heard the scraping of the blade against its casing, he was entranced. As his eyes fell upon the first few centimetres of blade, he knew there was no chance of refusal. He pulled it completely free and gazed upon the weapon. Light glinted off the metal as he tilted it, making spots dance in front of his eyes. Perfection. That was the only word for it. He stood, transfixed and horrified, unable to take his eyes off the item in his hands.

"Dad…" he breathed.

Simius grinned. "You like it, then?"

"I…I love it, but…" He tore his eyes from the dagger and looked at his father. "Dad, it's too much."

"Nonsense!" Simius insisted, clapping Torn on the shoulder. "Nothing's too good for my firstborn. Quit worrying so much."

"But…Dad, how many months rent would this have covered?"

The man merely waved the question away. "Let your mother and I worry about the finances." He placed his hand on Torn's arm. "How is your mother anyway?"

He didn't reply immediately. He sheathed the dagger, but showed no sign of relinquishing it. "Mom's alright. The same as earlier. She's been in bed all day. Ripp's school called, so I had to go get him, but we've bee-" Torn broke off as his father seized him roughly by the shoulders.

"Something happened at Ripp's school?" he demanded.

Torn shrugged his father's hands away. It wasn't exactly the way he'd planned to bring up the subject, but it was effective enough. "Yeah, nothing major though. Just got into a scrap with some sixth grader."

Simius' expression was grave. "Your brother got in a fight?" He didn't allow for Torn to speak. "That  _little brat_ , I otta pound him. Where is he?"

Torn put his hands out to stop his father. "Dad, relax. I already dealt with it. It's not going to happen again. All you need to do is sign the note on the fridge from the principal." In that moment Torn felt that he knew just how badly events would have played out if Simius had been required to get Ripp from school and was sure that he had prevented a minor catastrophe with his intervention. "Just leave him be."

The words appeared to have done little to soothe Simius' flared temper, but it did keep the man from storming off to Ripp's room. He let out an irritated growl. "You'd better have made sure this won't happen again."

"I did, I did. Don't worry. Ripp won't do it again." Eager to change topic, Torn said, "So…It's your turn to make dinner." He let the statement hang in the air, hoping that Simius would pick up on the hint.

"Ah, so it is," Simius said, nodding. "I'm going to say hello to your mother and then I'll get right on that." He gave Torn's shoulder an affectionate squeeze and turned to leave his son's room.

"Hey, Dad," Torn began. He waited until Simius had looked at him once more before continuing. He indicated the dagger, grinning like a lunatic. "Thanks, it's awesome."

The man smiled. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

* * *

Half an hour later, dinner was on the table and it was quickly clear that the additional thirty minutes had done nothing to allow Simius' rage at the youngest member of the family to dissipate. His cooking showed the effects of his rage all too easily; while a mediocre cook at the best of times, Simius' cooking ability dropped to what could only be described as marginally edible when his mood was anything but good.

Ripp poked his charred piece of meat unenthusiastically with his fork, flipping it over to see if the other side was any less black. It wasn't. He leaned over to his brother and whispered, "What's this supposed to be anyway?"

"Dunno," Torn hissed back, "Just shut up and eat."

The younger boy fixed Torn with something of a helpless look. "But it's  _gross_."

"Worf 'an aygee food," Torn mumbled around the mouthful he'd just taken. He couldn't quite stop himself from pulling a face. He swallowed and said, "Definitely worse than Guard food. Just eat it fast and get it over with."

"But,  _Torn_ , it's like…leather," Ripp protested.

This time, Torn waited until he'd swallowed before trying to speak. "Nope, I'm pretty sure if we cooked my school boots, it would taste better than this."

Ripp wasn't able to hold back a snort of laughter and earned a sharp look from his father. Instantly sobered, the boy lowered his gaze back to his plate to continue working his way through his dinner.

The remainder of the meal was passed in utter silence.

Torn finished first. He rose and collected the plates from his father and brother; Juska hadn't made it down to the kitchen for dinner. He dumped the dishes unceremoniously in the sink and turned on the tap. Behind him, he heard Simius get up and leave the kitchen.

The teen sighed once, just two more days before he would be at the academy and learning a new routine. It would be weird to say the least. His train of thought was derailed quickly by the soft padding of Ripp's bare feet on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. Torn looked over at his brother just as Ripp spoke in a soft voice.

"Can I help?"

Torn blinked. "Do you  _want_  to?" he asked. Doing the dishes had always been a major chore for both of them and more often than not, resulted in great frustration. While Torn had gotten used to the task over the years, Ripp was still quick to protest and fight against it, so it was strange for him to be volunteering.

"Sure."

This answer earned Ripp a soapy, wet hand to the forehead. "You feelin' alright?" Torn asked, half-teasing. "That fight didn't knock your brain loose or something, right?"

Ripp batted Torn's hand away. "I'm not sick!"

"If you say so," Torn said, shrugging. "If you really want to help, go grab the dishcloth. You can dry."

Nodding, the younger boy scurried off to do as he was told, working in silence alongside his sibling. They hadn't been at it for too long before Simius reentered the kitchen, bearing his wife's dirty dishes.

At the sight of his two boys working together, the man forced his expression into something close to a smile as he walked over to add Juska's dishes to their workload. Torn did nothing more than sigh at the addition to his work and Ripp didn't even look up.

"Helping Torn, Ripp?" Simius asked, his voice – much like his expression – forced. He raised a hand to clap his youngest on the shoulder.

Ripp spied the movement out of the corner of his eye and cringed. He jerked away from his father, bumped into Torn's leg and dropped the plate he was holding, causing it to smash on the floor.

"You little klutz!" Simius snarled, his tone no longer holding any of its false cheerfulness from moments before. Ripp shrank back against the kitchen counter, pressing up as close to it as possible.

Torn held out a hand to hold his father back. Ripp took this opportunity to latch tightly onto Torn's midsection. "Dad, it's just a plate. Relax." He placed his other hand on Ripp's head, attempting to reassure the boy; he knew just how quickly Ripp could panic.

Simius sighed. "Of course, you're right." The anger fell from his voice, leaving him sounding calm and rational once more. "Well," he said, shrugging, "I'll leave you two to this then." Without another word Simius left the kitchen.

Their father was barely gone when Torn rounded on Ripp. "What the hell was  _that_?" he demanded. "You've always been jumpy, but…That was just  _weird_."

Ripp relinquished his hold on Torn. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away.

Torn couldn't help rolling his eyes at that response. How was he supposed to get anywhere when all Ripp offered him was an apology?

"It was just Dad, okay?" he asked, "He's not evil and he's not going to kill you. Alright?"

The younger boy nodded slowly in acknowledgement.

"Good kid. Get out the dustpan."

Another nod. Ripp crept over the cupboard, skirting around the smashed plate, where he retrieved the broom and dustpan. He swept up the shattered porcelain as Torn finished washing the remaining dishes.

The teenager wiped his hands off on his pants and surveyed the kitchen. He grinned at Ripp. "Well, that was…eventful."

Ripp laughed.

Torn walked over to a drawer and pulled it open. "I'm bored." He rummaged around for a few moments before he produced a pack of playing cards. "What d'ya say? You up for a few rounds of war?"


	8. Welcome to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This chapter actually contains some of the child abuse mentioned in the tags.

The weekend passed without incident, surprisingly, and soon enough, it was Monday morning. When Torn awoke, he was more than ready to head off to the academy, eager to get back to doing something with himself. The teen sat up slowly, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping form next to him; Ripp had been sleeping alongside him every night since the previous Friday. Never before had the boy's nightmares been so terrible or frequent, it was slightly worrying.

For a few precious seconds, Torn sat there, propped up on one elbow, other arm still wrapped around his brother. How nice it would have been to lie back down and go to sleep, five-thirty in the morning was simply too early for any sane person to be awake. Stifling a yawn, Torn slipped out of bed and dressed, pulling his new uniform on. He slunk to the door and tried to ease it open as quietly as possible. He failed. The hinges groaned and creaked in protest and he cursed the fact that he'd never gotten around to oiling them. There was the rustle of bed sheets as Ripp stirred and sat up.

Through bleary eyes the younger boy regarded his brother. "Torn?" he asked, blinking and rubbing one eye with his fist. "Torn, what's going on? Where're you going?"

Guiltily, Torn returned to his bed, sitting down next to his brother. "I'm getting ready for school. I've got to be ready for six-thirty."

 _That_  woke Ripp up. After a moment of looking as though he'd been slapped across the face he managed to say, "What? No, you can't leave! Weren't you even going to say goodbye?"

Torn hugged Ripp close, digging his fingers into the boy's hair. "Of course I was. I was just going to let you sleep in a bit more. It's kinda early for you to be awake."

"You can't leave!"

"Ripp," Torn said firmly, "We've been over this, through it a hundred times. I  _can't_  change my mind. It'll be fine. I promise."

Ripp looked down as Torn released him. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He moved his hand to cup one of Ripp's cheeks and force his brother's gaze upward. "No matter what happens, I'm not going to be that far away. I won't be  _here_ , but I'll still look after you and I'll always protect you, no matter what."

Ripp's eyes filled with tears. "You promise?"

Torn nodded. "I promise."

* * *

Both Torn and Ripp were downstairs in the kitchen when Simius came down for breakfast. "Well," he said on his way to the coffeemaker, "You two are up early."

Torn shrugged. "Have to be." He spared a glance at the kitchen clock. "Pick-up's in about half an hour."

Simius nodded and walked over so he stood behind Ripp, placing his hand on the boy's head. "And what about you? What are  _you_  doing up?" he asked, grinding his palm down hard into Ripp's hair.

Ripp winced and gave him a look caught between smile and grimace. "No reason," he said. Neither of his parents approved of his midnight wanderings into Torn's room and he didn't doubt for an instant that Simius would be particularly displeased to know that he'd done it on a school night. A school night that had required Torn to be up early.

"I got him up, Dad," Torn said, giving Ripp a conspiratorial wink. He stood, picking up his dishes and carried them over to the sink. "How's Mom?"

"She's better. She'll be up to see you off, but I don't know if she'll stay up or not," Simius said.

Torn nodded slowly. He had the distinct impression that he'd forgotten something important. There. The note from Ripp's principal remained stuck to the fridge, unsigned. He pulled the slip of paper off and pulled open a drawer to his right to rummage around for a pen. "Dad," he called, motioning for his father, "you still need to sign this."

"Ah," Simius said, noting the paper his eldest held. He ground his palm down particularly hard on Ripp's head and his fingernails scraped against the younger boy's scalp as he created a fist and pulled his hand away. "That's right. I  _do_." He walked over to Torn and took the pen and paper from him.

As Simius was signing his name, Juska came downstairs. She appeared pale and drawn, but the fact that she was up and about spoke volumes. One hand rested on the doorframe for support as she looked at her son and sighed.

"Look at you, all ready to head off."

Torn grinned and moved to her, offering her his hand. The pair had come to terms with each other over the past week, Juska finally accepting her son's decision. "How're you feeling, Mom?"

"Fine enough." She raised a trembling hand to run down his cheek, thumb trailing slowly over his tattoos. A kiss was pressed to his cheek. "My little boy's all grown up and heading away from home…" Her voice caught in her throat and Torn abruptly found himself trapped in a tight embrace.

"Aw, c'mon, don't go getting all nostalgic on me," he said, hugging her back. "It's not like I'm gone for good. And you've still got Ripp, I'm sure he can make it so you don't even notice I'm gone." He looked over his shoulder at his brother. "You hear me, brat? You need to be twice the troublemaker you are now to make up for me not being around."

Ripp saluted, grinning. "Aye, aye, sir."

Juska laughed weakly. "It won't be the same." A second kiss was pressed to Torn's cheek before she released him.

Any response Torn had had to this vanished with the sudden slap on the back he received from Simius. "All packed up, then?" he asked.

Torn nodded. "Yep. Already by the door."

"Good lad, that's m'boy."

* * *

The minutes ticked past. Six-thirty came and it was only about five minutes later that a large, tough-looking man arrived at the door for Torn.

"Alright, let's get a move on. Hurry up and say goodbye," he said, voice little more than a rumbling growl.

Torn nodded once and turned back to his family. "Well, I guess this is it. I'll see you in a few weeks."

Juska rushed forward to grab her son in a tight hug. "Bye, honey," she murmured, "Be careful." When she pulled away, her eyes were wet with tears.

"Make me proud, Torn," Simius said before giving Torn a quick man-hug – complete with slap on the back.

The teen laughed. "Don't worry, I will." He turned to the last member of his family. He knelt and Ripp rushed into his arms, burying his face against Torn's neck.

"Don't leave me. Please, please, Torn, don't go."

"I have to."

There was a sob in Ripp's voice that made his heart ache. "Then take me with you."

"I can't." Torn was surprised to find that his own voice was on the verge of breaking. "You'll be fine. I swear." He squeezed the boy for a moment longer then loosened his grip. "Let go, brat, I've got to go." Ripp's only response was to tighten his grip, there was a desperation in the hold that was enough to almost make Torn regret his choice. "Ripp, let _go_!"

As Torn alone was unable to pry Ripp's hands away, Simius was forced to intervene. He seized Ripp and yanked him from Torn with enough force to break his grip. Torn nodded his brief thanks to his father before turning to face the guard who had come for him.

"Ready, cadet?"

"Yes, sir," Torn replied, picking up his suitcase from where it sat by the door.

As the pair turned towards the door, the still restrained Ripp let out a cry. "Torn!"

There was such anguish in his voice that Torn wanted nothing more than to drop his bag, turn around, grab Ripp and never let him go. But he didn't. Couldn't. He forced himself to ignore the terror in his sibling's voice. The sound of the front door closing was like the locking of Hell's gate behind him.

As Torn stepped onto the waiting airship, he couldn't help noticing the dirty looks that the other teens were giving him. One boy tried to trip Torn, and nearly succeeded in sending him to the floor. Torn caught himself just in time and glared at the other boy.

"Watch your step, slummer!" he jeered.

Torn grabbed him by the front of the shirt and dragged him forward, snarling, "Watch your back, prick!"

The boy in question pulled a face like he was terrified and turned to one of the cadets sitting next to him. "It's  _touching_  me! What do I do?"

"Oh, piss off," Torn hissed, releasing the boy's shirt as though it were something disgusting. As he took a seat, the other cadets nearest him edged away.

The airship only travelled a short way before they stopped again.

"Aw, c'mon, not  _another_  one," someone complained, "I thought the academy had  _standards_."

A couple minutes later, a very familiar redhead wandered on to the airship. The boy who had tried to trip Torn seemed to decide it would be a good time to try again on the newcomer. The attempt was considerably less successful. There was a  _thump_  and Erol had the boy pinned to the wall of the transport by the throat.

"You try that again and you'll be sucking your meals through a straw for the next  _month_ ," Erol hissed, "And if you still don't get the point…" He paused and allowed his gaze to travel pointedly downwards. "Well let's just say I hope you've finished puberty, cause you certainly won't be able to by the time I'm done with you."

The boy stared, horrified at Erol. "Can't you take a joke?" he spluttered.

"Next time, I suggest one with a punch line."

Torn couldn't quite help flinching as Erol's fist connected with the offending boy's jaw before letting him go. No one spoke as Erol took his seat next to Torn.

The brunette fixed him with a pointed look. "Alright, you've always had a temper, but what the hell was that?"

Erol fixed him with a look. " _You_  try being an insomniac, running on maybe two and half hours of sleep who just had an argument with my dad at five in the morning. You'd be pretty easy to piss off too."

"Fair enough."

"Besides," Erol shrugged once, "I'm not letting some stupid toff tell me what I can, and cannot do."

"Stupid what?"

"Never mind." Erol crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall of the transport. "If I fall asleep, wake me up before we get there, would you?"

Torn shrugged. "Sure." He surveyed the interior of the airship; everyone else seemed to be trying to give both him and Erol as large a berth as possible, as though they were rather frightened of them since the redhead's outburst. They weren't bothered for the remainder of the trip.

* * *

Back in Haven's slums however, things were not going as well for Ripp. He would have given anything in the world to have Torn abruptly walk back through the front door and announce that he would be staying at home.

The moment Simius had closed the door following Torn's departure, Ripp knew he was in trouble. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and he stared, terrified at his father. He'd acquired a serious problem and the security net he'd enjoyed for the past couple weeks wasn't there to save him this time. As Simius turned to face him, Ripp's heart sank; he knew all too well the look glittering in his father's eyes. Fear rooted him to the spot, paralyzed him. A single question thundered through his mind, the mantra of his abuse: _What did I do now?_  He could only stare, horrified as the man walked towards him.

"You," Simius snarled, cracking the knuckles of his left hand.

A tremor ran the length of Ripp's spine, breaking through his paralysis. He took a tiny step backwards. "Yes?" His muscles tensed. Fight or flight… He was ready for either.

"I've been waiting  _all weekend_  to let you know what I think of that little stunt you pulled."

Another tiny step. "Have you?" He chanced a quick glance at Juska, blue eyes darting towards her for a fraction of a second. He found no help there; he hadn't expected any. She never helped him. She just looked the other way, literally, tips of her fingers pressed to her lips, indifferent.

"I have." The threat was there, hidden behind the words. It rang through Ripp's mind like an alarm.  _Run! Run now!_

He could see it coming. His gaze was fixed on his father's hands. Another step back. The back of his foot met the bottom stair and he spun, practically tripping up the stairs as he bolted.

"Ripp, get back here!" Simius yelled.

He didn't answer, didn't obey, sprinting for his room. Adrenaline fueled him, gave him speed. Behind him, he heard Simius begin to give chase. He ran faster. Had the hallway not been carpeted, Ripp likely would have skidded past his room from the sharpness of his turn. As it was, all he succeeded in was getting a mild case of rug burn on his bare feet from the sudden change. He practically threw himself into his room, rolling to the side once he hit the ground. He bounced to his feet and whipped around. The door to his room banged shut as he slammed his body against the wood. It was a futile effort, he knew. He was only prolonging and worsening the inevitable, but still, he had to try.

Had the force with which Simius forced Ripp's door open not knocked the boy down, he would have been flattened against the wall.

"Don't you try to hide from me, you little  _brat_!"

Ripp could only stare, terrified as his father advanced on him. He wanted to spring to his feet and run once more, but he felt sluggish, like his body was too heavy. Colliding with the floor seemed to have jarred him from his adrenaline crazed state.  _Oh no_.

"Do you have  _any_  idea how hard I work to send you to that school?"

He could only shake his head mutely. Any answer he gave would only make things worse.

"You ungrateful little…!" Simius finish with a cry of exasperation, as though Ripp were simply beyond any name that could be conjured up from the depths of his mind. " _This_  is how you show your appreciation? After everything I do for you!"

"Dad, no… I just…" Ripp clambered back, trying to put distance between himself and his father.

Simius was on him in an instant, grabbing him by the front of the shirt. "There's no 'just' about this, you  _useless whelp_. You will not be doing it again. And if I ever hear about you pulling this sort of moronic stunt again…." He hauled the boy effortlessly off the floor and shook him violently. "Do you understand me?"

He was quaking with fear, but managed a nod, his one word of reply tripping past his teeth. "Y-yes."

"No you don't. Not yet."

Ripp stared at Simius, horror flickering over his face. "I-" the thought was cut off by his father's hand pounding into is face.

"You never learn!"

The boy suddenly met the wall. He was too shocked by the sudden impact to even cry out, not even when he fell to the floor, limp. He didn't get up from where he fell, not moving at all. He was only half playing possum.

Half an hour later, Simius exited his son's room, shouting over his shoulder. "Now get dressed and drag your sorry, worthless ass to school!"

Ripp lay curled up in the foetal position, sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the floor. One hand clutched desperately at his necklace. He was bleeding from several cuts and bruises were forming in multiple places. More places than he cared to count. Slowly he uncurled and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He couldn't quite keep back a couple choked sobs. He crawled over to his dresser and pulled open a drawer. Feeling around inside the drawer he removed a shirt then used the drawer to pull himself to his feet. He staggered out of his room clad in an old t-shirt and ripped pair of jeans. One hand rested against the wall for support. He made his painstaking way to the front door and looked around for his backpack as he pulled on his shoes. His bag was nowhere in sight. The missing item abruptly flew down to the landing and collided hard with the back of his head.

"There, brat! Now,  _get out_!" Simius hollered from the top of the stairs.

Ripp grabbed his bag and bolted out the door as fast as he could.

* * *

The young boy's return to school grounds was far from commonplace or well received. Caito, it seemed, had given his friends a solid description of the boy with whom he had brawled a few days earlier. That day, no matter where Ripp went when he was outside class, there was a large sixth grader nearby, prepared to make him pay.

At recess, Ripp had planned on doing nothing more than slinking off to the shadows to sit and nurse the injuries he'd received from his father. When the bell rang to call the students back inside, Ripp certainly was curled up in a dark corner nursing his most recent wounds, but they weren't from Simius.

Though he'd intended to go see the principal during lunchtime, events didn't play out favourably for him. All of his attempts to reach the office were swiftly thwarted by his stalkers who took his attempts to see the principal negatively. The only way that Ripp was able to hide from them was to lock himself in the boys' washroom for the duration of the hour long break.

By the end of the day, Ripp's bruises had darkened considerably and showed up, stark against his pale skin. He lingered in the classroom, taking five minutes pretending to take extensively detailed notes on the nearly non-existent homework in his school-issued agenda. He hoped that this extra couple of minutes would be enough to dissuade any further attacks at the hands of Caito or his friends. Hopefully the sixth graders would clear the building as soon as possible. Ripp packed up slowly, putting the small novel he'd been aside carefully in his bag, adding the couple of math worksheets in with the utmost precision, as though trying very hard to try and make sure that they didn't crumple. That done, he crept over to the classroom door and checked carefully for any sixth graders. Once he determined that the coast was clear, he finally headed down to the office.

His nerve failed him just outside the office and paced around outside for a good ten minutes before he finally managed to work up the courage to head inside. The secretary gave a small start when she saw him. Her eyes then softened, pity shone there, and she smiled kindly at him.

"Shall I get the nurse for you?" she asked him gently.

Her question did little more than confuse Ripp. "N-no," he stuttered. He slipped off his backpack and set it on the floor so he could remove his note from it. He pulled out the slip of paper, and looked at the woman. "I'm supposed to give this to the principal," he said.

She seemed surprised by this. "Oh… He's on the phone right now, but I'm sure he'll be with you soon. Why don't you go take a seat, dear?"

He shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

She seemed so concerned about him, but Ripp couldn't fathom why. He nodded. He didn't need to sit down. It would be a fast visit.

"Alright, if that's what you'd like." She glanced over at the door to the principal's office.

Through the frosted glass, the man himself was visible hanging up the phone and walking to the door. He pulled it open, spied Ripp and appeared mildly surprised.

"I didn't think you were going to show up," he said to the boy. "I just left a message for your parents."

Ripp paled, colour draining his face in an instant. His eyes widened. "Y-you did?" Every cut, every bruise he'd gotten so far that day suddenly throbbed in anticipation of a further beating.

The principal nodded. "I did. I told your brother that if you hadn't shown up by the end of the day, then I would call your house. School's been over for nearly twenty minutes now."

The boy's eyes widened. "Oh…" he'd  _just_  brought the note. It all seemed terribly unfair. Did no one care about what he'd done to get it there? He turned around and threw the now unneeded note in the trashcan on the way out of the office.

As soon as he was off school grounds, Ripp broke into a run. He had to get home – fast.

* * *

Torn's day went considerably smoother than his brother's. Upon arriving at the academy the new students had been assigned numbers and divided into groups, though majority of these groups were merely the random collections of all the kids that had been picked up together. An instructor was assigned to each division to students. Every instructor had a tough, no nonsense look about them. The man assigned to Torn and Erol's group was no exception.

He paced in front of his charges, staring them all down over his hooked nose. No one could match his gaze for long. Had there been a contest, however, to see which new cadet could hold his gaze longest and dare to try and challenge him with a look, Erol easily would have won.

"Alright, you punks," the instructor began, giving Torn an exceptionally suspicious glare – he was the only in his group who had chosen to have dreadlocks as opposed to short hair. "Today, you learn the rules of the establishment. Best remember them, since you'll get no sympathy for breaking them. And you won't be hearing them again."

No one spoke, though whether it was out of respect, or fear, it couldn't be said.

The instructor glared at them all again, as though daring them to speak out of turn, to make some smart comment before he launched into the rules. Again, no one spoke. "Curfew is ten o'clock sharp. If you're out of your dorm for even a minute after, be prepared to face the consequences. Defiance will  _not_  be tolerated. Demerit points will be issued by any teacher at their discretion for any acts against the regulations of this facility. A total greater than seven results in immediate expulsion."

There was some slight shifting among the ranks of students at this.

"Wake up is five thirty. Anyone caught still in bed after five minutes have elapsed…" he paused and grinned darkly. "Well, they won't be doing that again." He continued on for about five more minutes, stressing the finer points of the school before he finally stopped, saying "You're not in some dingy, backwater slummer school anymore."

Neither Torn, nor Erol could quite contain their annoyance at this comment. Erol bristled visibly. Their instructor noticed.

"Something wrong, cadet?" he demanded, glaring at Erol from beneath heavy brows.

"Yes. I disapprove of your derogatory choice of words," he replied calmly.

Everyone stared at him. The instructor looked livid and he seized Erol's left wrist, slapping three tight-fitting silver bands around his bicep. "Three demerits," he hissed, "I'm watching you, triple-six."

Erol said nothing, glancing at his demerits with cool disinterest. He twisted his arm back and forth, causing light to glimmer from the metal. A smirk played about his lips at the use of his identification number: 666. His calm expression failed to flicker even as his jaw was grabbed by the instructor and his head roughly twisted to face the man.

"You're already on thin ice, don't push it."

"Yes, sir."

The man glared at Erol for a moment longer before releasing him and continuing with his orientation speech. This quickly became a lecture on the proper way to wear dog tags as apparently more than one student had nearly choked to death from having them on incorrectly. As he finished this explanation, the instructor handed out dog tags to everyone within his group. The flat metal discs were engraved with the student's name, number and – Torn noticed with a slight jolt – the family member to notify in the event that something went wrong.

Torn slipped his tags around his neck and inspected them. His name was written in large letters with his identification number – 971 – below, followed by the name of his father. Both tags were identical. It was jarring to realize exactly why. "One for the body, one for the family," he whispered to himself, quiet enough that the instructor couldn't hear.

Not at some backwater slummer school anymore indeed.

* * *

The last task of the day was being assigned to dormitories. Friends were split up by long stretches of hallway or classrooms and any complaints were quickly quashed by someone in authority ready with demerits to slap on. Torn and Erol's group was fast shrinking, their instructor clearly experienced at dividing up teenagers into their separate dorms.

He stopped outside yet another door. "Triple-six," he jerked his thumb at the door and Erol moved forward. The redhead mouthed 'See ya' at Torn as he passed him. Everyone else remaining in their group exchanged worried looks; it was apparent that no one wanted to be stuck rooming with  _him_.

The instructor glared at his sheet for a moment, brow furrowing. He let out a sigh and looked up, announcing the second dorm occupant. "Niner-seven-one, you too."

Torn blinked. That was the last thing he'd expected. Either he and Erol had some incredible luck, or there was some other force at play. Still, he wasn't about to complain and walked into the room that Erol had just disappeared into. Their instructor glared at both of them, made an 'I'm watching you two' gesture and moved along to continue sorting his remaining students.

As the door shut, Torn took a seat on one of the beds and stared at Erol. "Honestly,  _what_  are the odds of this?" he asked. "Everyone else is being split up from their friends. How'd  _we_  wind up together? Kinda farfetched, don't you think?"

Erol lay on his bed and rolled so he could watch Torn from an upside-down vantage point. "Frankly, I saw this coming."

"You did not."

"I did."

Torn pulled a face. "Alright, genius, I'll bite. How'd you figure it out?"

The slightly younger boy raised – or rather lowered – an eyebrow at his roommate. "Haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"Right. I'm taking that as a definite 'no,' then." Erol rolled back up into a sitting position. "We're being separated from everyone else. They don't know what to make of us."

Torn cocked his head to the side. "I'm not following."

This drew a sigh from Erol. "We're the  _only_  slummers in the school. You couldn't tell?"

Torn thought back on this. "I guess not. Really?"

"Yeah, really." Erol shrugged and held out his left arm; his demerits glittered slightly in the light. "It's why I got three of these instead of the standard one or two. Not that I'm complaining, mind, but… I think we're the first slummers to honestly  _choose_  to enlist. Normally our kind only show up in the spaces for delinquents that have gotten too out of control to be anywhere but the KG."

Torn appeared slightly confused by this.

Erol sighed again. "Our type get conscripted. I think…" he looked around before leaning forward conspiratorially, "I think we're being tested."

" _How_  do you know all of this?" Torn asked.

"Mostly it's guesswork, a small amount of research and part observation. Like we were the only ones who didn't think that slummer school comment was funny. Everyone else thought it was a right riot."

"Hmm…" Torn considered this. "Are you sure?" he asked, arching a still non-existent eyebrow.

"Pretty sure." Erol fixed him with a confused look. "Why the hell haven't your eyebrows grown back yet?"

Torn laughed and shrugged. "No clue. I think they're just gone for good."

Erol smirked. "Good luck with that."

* * *

It was a little after midnight when Ripp awoke, trembling with fear. Another nightmare had disrupted his sleep. The multiple beatings of the day had done nothing to ease his night terrors. Simius had decided to teach his youngest another lesson when he'd gotten home, this time it involved something about being an unreliable little wimp who apparently couldn't be entrusted with a simple task. This roughly translated to: his parents had gotten the message from the principal before he'd gotten home and had a chance to try and explain anything.

Ripp slid out of bed and padded softly to the door. He crept out into the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The door to Torn's room creaked unhappily as Ripp entered.

There wasn't the movement from the bed that he'd been expecting. Moonlight poured in through the open curtains, casting the room in a soft, blue-white glow. Torn wasn't there. The room was empty. Ripp's heart lurched.

The boy's eyes glistened with tears as he recalled the fact that his brother wasn't there, that Torn wasn't there and wouldn't be for a very long time. Ripp blinked back the tears and trudged over to the bed anyway. He pulled the covers back and curled up on the mattress, just like he would have if Torn had been home.

The sheets still smelled like his brother and if he focused hard enough, Ripp could almost feel Torn's warm body there on the bed with him, feel the arm wrapped protectively about him. Almost hear his brother's soft, slow breathing in his ear. Almost. Almost wasn't good enough.

Quiet tears escaped and slithered down Ripp's cheeks. He curled into a tighter ball and clutched at the fang on his necklace in his small fist, clutched it as though it was the only solid thing in the whole world. As though through the fang he could magically summon Torn…

More tears came. Ripp laid his head on the bed and inhaled Torn's scent. It just wasn't good enough. It wasn't the same.

He wanted his brother.


	9. Life As Usual

As far as all things KG were concerned, the first few weeks of school had been more or less quite tame. The five-thirty wake-up times were harsh and took some getting used to, but no one dared to find out what would happen to them if they lingered in bed, not after they heard the first scream of agony from one of the dormitories down one of the long hallways.

Erol had nearly gotten himself expelled within the first month. Twice. Instead of being bothered by this fact however, he took it in stride, found it simply hilarious. Of course, he had definitely been testing boundaries, mostly to see what earned him demerits and how many it got him. As he'd informed Torn one day, proudly displaying his first set of seven demerits, his experimentation had led him to understand that punishment depended on the teacher. The war history teacher – for example – didn't believe in handing out demerits, but if anyone so much as dropped a pencil in his class they had to do roughly thirty push-ups.

Once he'd had it pointed out, it hadn't taken Torn long to realize that the bias against slummers that Erol had mentioned was definitely there. It was apparent even in something as simple as an offhand comment about how slummers were nothing more than cannon fodder on the battlefield. Torn's reaction to that remark had earned him a hefty four demerits and a detention. It soon became clear to both Torn and Erol that unless they figured out some way to prove everyone wrong, they were always going to be considered the underdogs of the academy.

* * *

Home in the slums of Haven, Ripp was enduring the difficulties adjusting to the changes in his life. Without Torn around to mediate and calm Simius' temper, Ripp found that there seemed to be no end to the pain. He had hoped that the fact he was in school would do something to keep the beatings at bay, that Simius would fear the notion of someone finding out about the abuse just as he seemed to fear Torn. He'd hoped that there would be some reprieve, but there wasn't.

Ripp's fist seemed to have permanently affixed itself to the fang necklace and every night the only way he could sleep was to sneak into Torn's room. Even this was beginning to lose its effectiveness however. The scent of Torn that had once been so comforting to the boy was fading from the sheets and he had to focus harder on the thought of his brother to call upon the same feelings of security that had once come so easily to him.

It was getting harder and harder to pretend that nothing was wrong. He'd taken to crossing off the days in his school agenda until Torn's first return. Two months was a long time. Too long for him to continue taking the abuse he was. He couldn't escape. At home or at school, all he was ever met with was a world of pain.

Two months was an awfully long time.

* * *

Torn hauled himself out of bed and glanced over at the second cot to find it already vacant. He rubbed his eyes and stood up going to check the date on the calendar in his and Erol's room. His long, thin pointer finger trailed across the red slashes that his roommate had been putting on the passing days.

Erol looked up from getting dressed and walked over, pulling his shirt on. "What's up?"

The blue-eyed boy grinned. "We're going home tomorrow."

Erol smirked. "Well, won't that just be a blast. I mean, I'll get to go home, Dad'll want me to cook because I'm better than him – not that I  _really_  mind, we'll argue once – maybe twice, and then we'll be comi-" He broke off, staring at the calendar. "Oh hell no."

Torn looked at his friend with concern. "What?"

The redhead swore, ignoring the other teen. "Should've known. How hard was that to figure out? I'm smarter than that, should've seen it coming. I thought that was a funny date; the middle of the month no less…" Erol muttered angrily.

"Odd time for what?" Torn asked.

Erol appeared surprised. "Was that out loud? Oops. Don't mind me. Everything's fine, just  _dandy_."

Torn arched a still non-existent eyebrow. "Alright, seriously, what's wrong?"

"Wrong? What could possibly be  _wrong_? Other than the fact that Dad and Shari actually seem to want me around for the ceremony that will completely whitewash my mother's life - nothing! Nothing's wrong!" Erol snarled. He was bristling and looked on the verge of punching something – Torn hoped that  _something_  wasn't about to be him. The redhead's left eye was twitching, a sure sign that he was annoyed.

As a precaution, Torn took a step back. "I still don't think I follow," he said slowly, raising his hands a bit, just enough to give him a better chance of defending himself if Erol decided that he was angry enough to hit something.

Erol blinked. "Oh." He sighed. "Dad and Shari's wedding."

" _Oh_. Well then…" Torn trailed off awkwardly.

"My thoughts exactly." Erol gave Torn a small shove. "Better get dressed or you'll have some more of  _these_  pretty little things," he said, indicating his demerits.

Torn glanced at his own set of shining bands. "You've got a point there."

It didn't take long to get dressed, only a couple minutes. Torn finished pulling on his uniform and returned to Erol, who was still glaring at the calendar like a spoiled child. "It won't be that bad," he said.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to do it."

Torn was about to reply when he was cut off by the pounding of their instructor on the door, bellowing at them to get down to the mess hall. He put his hand on Erol's shoulder and pulled him away from the calendar. "C'mon, let's just go eat," he said, "You'll feel better once you've got something to distract you."

The redhead allowed Torn to guide him from the room, but he grumbled the whole way.

* * *

The slamming of a door woke Ripp and he cowered in Torn's sheets. From the sound of things, Simius had awoken in a bad mood. The boy couldn't quite fight a whimper. At least Torn was coming home soon. The mere threat of his brother was enough to stay Simius' hand somewhat and he hadn't been really hit by the man for nearly a week. It didn't mean that he planned to cross his father in a bad mood though; some ideas were just  _bad_  and that was one of them.

Ripp slipped out of bed and made up the sheets to disguise the fact that he'd spent yet another night in his brother's room. He crept over to the door and peered anxiously into the hallway, checking that the coast was clear, after all, he wasn't supposed to be in Torn's room. Spying neither of his parents, Ripp dashed across the hallway to his room and stopped in front of his dresser. He pulled open a drawer and selected a shirt at random. His jeans lay on the floor where he'd thrown them the night before and he pulled them on, fastening the worn belt around his waist as tightly as he could.

He skulked to the kitchen, listening carefully for any indication of just how bad of a mood his father was in. Ripp pressed up against the door frame of the kitchen, peering into the room in wide-eyed fear. All that his careful reconnaissance told him was that Simius appeared to be trying to stare down a cup of coffee. Never a good sign.

The boy swallowed nervously, feeling his stomach growl. If he wanted to eat, he'd have to brave the kitchen. Clutching the fang desperately, as though it could give him the protection that Torn had always promised, he forced himself to actually cross the threshold of the kitchen. With a little luck, Torn's imminent arrival the next day would be enough to save him from his father's wrath. Ripp had never exactly been what one would call  _lucky_.

His bare feet on the linoleum of the floor seemed loud, too loud and Simius glanced up sharply at the sound. "Oh," he said, "It's  _you_. Hello, brat."

Ripp froze and looked up at his father in fear.

"Not even going to reply?" Simius demanded.

The boy squeaked, "H-h-hello, Dad…"

"That's more like it," Simius said, getting to his feet. His movement was slow and menacing. "Wherever did you learn your manners, boy?"

Ripp couldn't fight the tremor that ran through his body and he took a few steps backwards, away from his father. Usually he felt safe if Torn was coming home, normally Simius wouldn't dare to lay a finger on him just in case it left a mark… But at that moment, Ripp was far from sure. He couldn't reply, paralyzed by the fear.

"Well?"

The boy inched backwards, doing what he could to keep his distance.

"Not going to give me an answer, brat?" Simius snarled.

Ripp gave his head a fearful shake. Maybe, just maybe, if he  _did_  get hurt, Torn would notice… Maybe he'd finally catch on… He'd backed into the wall and hid his head in his hands, cowering. Ripp braced himself for the inevitable impact of his father's hand.

It didn't come. One icy eye opened cautiously and peered up. Simius was standing over him; he had the look on his face that was usually coupled with him doing something particularly violent. It seemed, however, that he was smart enough not to try anything.

For a moment longer he glared at the boy before letting out a disgusted snort and walked back to the table and his half-finished cup of coffee.

Ripp's nerves failed him and he left the kitchen, slinking back to his room. This was going to be a far from good day. He could already tell. It had the sort of feeling that was common to how all his bad days started; he saw no reason to expect it to turn out differently.

Hastily, Ripp filled his backpack and returned to the kitchen, noting with relief that his father had – for the moment – left it unoccupied, presumably to get changed for work. He grabbed a slice of bread for breakfast. It was quiet in the kitchen, something that Ripp enjoyed and loathed; enjoyed because it meant that he could hear even the slightest sound, but hated because it meant that he was alone. Alone like he had been all summer, like he had been for the past two months. His stomach growled again, and, after glancing furtively around, he grabbed a second piece of bread, no sense in letting a perfectly good chance to actually eat go to waste.

From down the hall, Ripp caught the sound of his father's feet on the carpet of the hallway. For a split second, Ripp froze again, terrified. A few moments later he'd wolfed down his makeshift breakfast and had grabbed his backpack. He'd learned to judge time by his father's morning routine; when Simius was ready for work, it was his cue to head to school. He lugged his bag down the stairs, listening to the satisfying thump it made on each step on the way down to the landing.

Simius had come to the top of the stairs and was watching Ripp with a cold, calculating gaze as the boy hunted around for his shoes. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he thanked whatever deity felt like listening that Torn would be back the next day. It would give him a reprieve, if only a slight one.

* * *

The walk to school was rainy and wet, not too uncommon of an occurrence in Haven. Ripp would have brought a jacket to keep dry, if he'd had one to bring. As it was he was, the best he could do was to pull his backpack over his head to try and shield himself from the rain. It didn't really work too well. The boy's footsteps were slow and grudging. He purposely liked to try and make the trip longer than he needed, at least on the way there; it was the only time that he had where he felt safe, free from both Caito's ragtag gang of friends and his father.

Caito and his cronies – as Ripp had come to think of them – had yet to stop terrorizing him for that day at recess when the fight had taken place. Originally they'd started off with the clichéd idea of trying to take his lunch money. They'd been forced to come up with something more unique once they realized that Ripp truly had no money on him. Ever. Now he was stalked relentlessly by them, he'd find threatening notes stuffed into the toes of his outdoor shoes or the pockets of his backpack which, while initially quite jarring, he was now learning to ignore. A day didn't go by where he wasn't assaulted by at least two of them. They'd tried a couple times to catch him and drag him away to…somewhere… their intended location still remained a mystery to Ripp as on the single time they had actually managed to capture him, he'd broken away and run as far and fast as he could from them.

Ripp's shirt clung to his body and he was shivering violently by the time he'd arrived at school. The only thought that kept him going was that the weekend was coming. And with the weekend came his brother.

* * *

In general, it was business as usual at the academy. The students remained calm and collected under the strict supervision of their teachers, despite the impending break. Anyone who dared to disrupt the rule of the academy was quickly set back in line by teachers ready, and more than willing, to hand out demerit bands.

It was likely that Torn would have felt considerably more excited by the notion of getting to see his little brother again had he not been around Erol all day. The redhead's foul mood pulled everyone around him down, greatly dampening even the most chipper spirits. He'd become volatile, a trap set to spring at anyone with a moment's notice. Even a couple of the teachers, it seemed, were reluctant to deal with him too much; most people gave him a wide berth whenever possible.

* * *

Following lunch, most of the cadets were at their lockers to grab their textbooks before heading off to next class. Torn pulled out his war history book and hefted the heavy volume under his arm as he waited for Erol; foul mood or not, he wasn't about to abandon the other boy to the mercy of the academy's hallways.

Torn staggered as someone gave him a rough shove from behind. "Move it, slummer scum," the boy, a grade higher than him, snapped.

Torn fixed him with a hard glare, but otherwise did nothing.

In accordance with the informal rules of the faculty, the older boy outranked him. Rebelling against one's superiors tended to earn someone more than a short lecture and a few demerits. Despite how utterly frustrating it was to be pushed around, if Torn didn't want to attract unwanted attention to himself, he simply had to endure it. It would have been more tolerable if it didn't happen so frequently. Because of his – and Erol's – leaner builds, they failed to show the build-up of muscle as easily as other cadets and this made both of them seem like prime targets; that didn't even account for their social standing.

As the boy shoved past Torn, Erol casually – so casually it almost could have been an accident – stuck his foot out behind him, tripping the older boy. The satisfied smirk on his face as he slammed his locker shut, however, confirmed that it had been no accident. Moments later, Erol was caught in a headlock, his golden-brown eyes gazing calmly up at his captor. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding at all apologetic, "Did you want something?"

"You little gutter rat, I'm going to  _kill_  you for that," the older boy snarled, tightening his hold.

Erol merely gave him a sceptical look. "Is that so?"

The following scuffle was rather one sided, but not favouring the side that most of the onlookers would have assumed. It ended with Erol standing over the other boy, foot on his chest, leering down at him. "What was that about killing me? Looks more like  _I_  could kill  _you_ , care to press your luck?"

The tenth grader stared up at him, mouth hanging slightly slack. "You little  _rat_ ," he snarled.

Erol smirked and shifted his weight slowly to the foot he had on the boy's chest. Breath hissed, unbidden, from the pinned boy's lungs as Erol's weight forced the air from him.

When the bell for class rang, no one moved. All eyes in the hall were fixed on Erol and the tenth grader. Most students scarcely dared to breathe. The tension hung thick in the air as Erol leaned further forward. He sneered; a cobra preparing for the kill. Just as he seemed about to strike, a group of teachers showed up to find the source of the commotion.

It took one of them to pull Erol off the boy, and another two to keep the tenth grader from lunging at the redhead the moment he was up. The teacher holding Erol grabbed his dog tags and examined them.

"Triple-six," he snarled, "I should've known. Seems you don't know your place." He dropped the tags with disgust, his hand instinctively going to the pouch of demerits he wore strapped to his belt. He turned his sharp gaze upon Torn. "You, cadet! Number."

"Wha-? Oh! Nine-seventy-one."

The teacher rolled his eyes, muttering, "The other one." He jabbed an accusing finger at another boy and demanded his number instead.

"Five-twenty-eight, sir," he said, saluting smartly.

"Good. What happened here?"

* * *

Over the past couple months, Ripp had started to get good at dodging Caito and, surprisingly, he had so far that day avoided actually being hurt by any of the sixth graders. Of course, that meant that he'd missed recess and the outside break during lunch time, but as it was still raining, for once he didn't actually mind. It seemed like he'd finally dried off from the walk  _to_  school when he had to head back out in the rain to head home.

He skulked out of the classroom, casting wary glances in both directions as though he were about to try and cross a dangerous highway. It looked clear. Looks were often deceiving. He crept from the doorway to his class's coat hooks to retrieve his outdoor runners from by his hook. They were still soaked. Sighing with resignation, he slipped off his school shoes and pulled on the other pair.

He was reaching for his backpack when a hand on the back of his neck made him jump.

"Thought you'd escaped me today, did you?" Caito hissed, fingers slipping one by one beneath the chain of Ripp's necklace.

The second grader froze.

"I've been wondering what happened to your spunk. Seems you've been broke since that little outburst of yours. Ain't got yerself no spine, have ya?" Caito tugged slightly on the chain.

Ripp's hand closed around his fang, clutching it to his chest. His eyes closed. Caito was touching his necklace, his  _necklace_. How dare he? He could feel Caito's fingers moving on the back of his neck doing…something. Ripp couldn't tell what.

A moment later the chain slithered off each side of his throat, the clasp undone. Against his better judgement, Ripp's eyes opened and he looked over his shoulder at the other boy. Caito smirked; his hand snaked around to grab Ripp's hand – his hand that gripped the metalhead fang.

"Let's say you give me that…trinket… and I'll let you off easy."

Ripp's fingers trembled as he tightened his grip. Give up his gift from Torn? The only thing that had offered him comfort for the past two months?  _No way_.

"C'mon, let's do this the easy way. I'll get it from you eventually. You know you'll just lose it anyway."

Caito stumbled backwards, clutching his stomach, winded. Ripp had grabbed his backpack and darted off, not daring to stick around and see the effect that driving his elbow into the sixth grader's gut had produced. To do so would be to not only give up the head start that the action had surely earned him, but would be just asking for trouble.

Rain pounded and beat down on his head the moment that Ripp exited the building. He didn't care. Ankle deep puddles were splashed through without a thought, untied shoelaces were ignored; he didn't stop, didn't so much as pause until he was blocks away from school. He skidded to a stop and nearly fell, catching his balance again at the last moment. Ripp knelt and fumbled with his dripping shoelaces before attempting to puzzle out the clasp on his necklace. It was a couple minutes and multiple tries later that his necklace was fastened safe and secure around his neck once more.

Ripp looked around, though what he was expecting to see he couldn't say. Not finding whatever it was, he started home once more.


	10. Eleven and Eighteen

"Yeah, looks like I'm not going to be able to make it back this time…" said Torn blandly into the receiver. He was silent as he listened to his mother's response. "Things are just rough right now. There are finals and I've got a lot of work to do; I need this weekend to get it done. And there's grad coming up fas-" He broke off, again listening to his mother. "I know, Mom. I know. I'm sorry. Yeah, I— _Mom, I know_." He sighed once and leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as though it could give him answers. "I know. I'm sorry. I miss you guys too." Another sigh. "He won't take it too hard, will he?" Here, Torn nodded solemnly, despite the fact that Juska couldn't see him. "I was afraid you'd say that. You'll try to break it to him easily, right? Tell him I'm really sorry." The eighteen year old nodded again. "Yeah, okay. Yeah… Love you too." He sighed for a third time and hung up the phone.

Erol looked at him from the bed. "Well," he said, "that sounded like it went well."

"I guess."

The younger teen stretched out on his bed. "I'm glad I'm done with that. No more visits, no more arguments, no more pretending that I accept Shari as my new mom, or tolerating that  _brat_  they replaced me with." He folded his arms behind his head, smirking. "Yes, life is  _good_."

Torn shook his head, rolling his eyes as he did. "You're  _so_  weird. I'd go stir crazy if I never left this place."

Erol grinned, his golden eyes lighting up with a slight insanity. "Can't imagine that."

"Stop it."

The redhead sighed, but lost his insane look. "Spoilsport."

"It's just creepy. You've always been wired a little differently."

"Mm… Don't I know it…" Erol shook his head and got up. He cracked his neck once, loudly, and yawned. "I  _really_  dislike having class after night patrol."

"Don't we all?" Torn asked, idly fingering his knife that he now wore strapped to his hip; he hadn't decided if that was the best place to wear his curved weapon yet. "Soon we won't have class."

Erol nodded before he began pacing around their room like a caged animal. "Then we'll actually get out there and get to do something instead of staying cooped up in here. I can't wait."

Torn rolled his eyes. Just two more months and they'd be out of school, out of the academy and thrown out in the great wide world to fend for themselves. "Yeah, and then we're officially part of the Guard." He grabbed his book bag from the floor and pulled it on over one shoulder. "Anyway, I gotta go. See you later. Field meds."

Erol simply waved him off.

* * *

Juska hung up the phone and turned to Ripp. The eleven year old looked up at her from his breakfast. The moment he saw the look on her face, his heart sank. There was bad news coming. "What is it, Mom?"

She sighed and sat down, sipping her coffee a couple times before looking at her son. "That was Torn."

Ripp bit his lip. "And…?"

Juska looked sadly at the boy. "He's not coming back home this time. He's too busy."

"What? No! He has to come back!" This was the second time in a row that he'd cancelled. How could Torn do this?

His mother shook her head. "I know he'll make it up to you."

Ripp sighed, looking down at the table. Three months. Three months since the last visit had been scheduled and had fallen through. Five months since he'd seen his brother. A lump formed in his throat and his fists clenched. It wasn't fair. He needed to see Torn. Five months. He'd been waiting for five months and now… Now he had to wait longer.

The soft scraping of Juska's chair on the floor made him look up. She'd gotten to her feet and had her arms out and it was just  _such_  a motherly thing to do, that for a moment Ripp didn't know what  _he_  was supposed to do. Then he was on his feet, hugging her tightly, face buried in his mother's shoulder as she stroked his hair.

"It's not fair…" he choked in between sobs, "Why doesn't he come see us anymore? Does he hate us now?"

"Ripp, honey, of course not," Juska murmured, "He's in his last year. Things get busy. When you're his age and in grade twelve you'll understand. He'll have time once school's done."

"No, he won't!" Ripp practically shouted. "Then he'll be working and he'll never have time for us again!"

"Ripp, don't say that. He does his best."

"And it's not good enough!"

Juska simply hugged him tighter. "I know you miss him; we all do." She kissed his temple once and released him. When Ripp didn't look up, she cupped his face in her hands and wiped away his lingering tears with her thumbs. "It'll be okay." Her lips pressed to his forehead. "Go finish breakfast; you'll be late for school."

Reluctantly, Ripp nodded and returned to his breakfast. Ordinarily he didn't need such reminders for what time to leave for school, but the boy tended to gauge his morning schedule around his father's departure for work, and Simius had left early that morning; there had been a conference he'd needed to attend. Ripp finished eating and trudged over to the counter to put his plate in the sink.

The boy let out a despairing sigh. Why couldn't Torn just come back? The large bruise on his back had nearly disappeared too… Maybe he'd change his mind, maybe he'd make the time… It seemed unlikely. Ripp was simply too used to his brother's workaholic tendencies to believe that he would dare to put personal pleasure over the completion of work. And Torn  _was_  busy…

He headed for the front door, grabbing his backpack.

Juska had come to the top of the stairs to see her son off. "Try to have a fun day at school, alright, Ripp?"

He snorted. As if his day could possibly be good when it started off with the kind of bad news it had. "Yeah…whatever. Bye, Mom."

* * *

Torn selected a table in the school library and sat at it, pulling out his textbooks. Thank the precursors that someone had come up with the idea of spares, especially with the upcoming finals. He'd just started jotting down notes, dates and reminders when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He looked up. Hunting systematically through the bookshelves was a girl, at most a few years younger than himself. It was hardly unusual. Granted, boys  _did_  outnumber the girls at the academy by a fair margin – about two to one – but why this girl in particular had caught his attention, Torn couldn't say.

Perhaps it was the way she carried herself. There was an air of importance around her, something more than the general toughness exhibited by the academy and military's female population. Her dark red hair was contained in tight, neat dreadlocks and the taut fabric of her uniform served only to accentuate her curves. It was hard not to imagine a thing or two about her.

Torn gave his head a quick shake and turned back to his textbook. What had gotten into him? When he next looked up, the girl seemed to have found the book she was looking for and he felt a slight pang of disappointment that she'd left. This didn't last long as he spotted her a couple tables away, already poring over the thick, leather-bound volume she'd selected.

There was a small part of Torn that wanted to go over there and talk to her, but… No. There was something about her that kept him in place. Besides, he had other things – more academic things – to focus on. He turned back to his books, trying desperately to ignore the girl.

Someone sat down across from him.

"Mm hmm hmm, who's the hottie?" Erol purred, indicating the redheaded girl Torn had been watching moments before.

"No idea," Torn replied, not even bothering to look up.

"Shame. I'd love to get to know  _that_." The younger teen shrugged and looked at Torn. "Studying? Again? Really? You're really a workaholic sometimes… God, it must be boring as sin to be you."

"Cram it."

Erol rolled his eyes and drummed his gloved fingers idly against the tabletop, tapping out some abstract rhythm.

Reluctantly, Torn looked up. "Is there a reason you're here, or did you just want to bother me?"

Erol tried very hard to look offended by the comment. "Why can it never be both?"

"Because it never  _is_  both with you."

The redhead rolled his eyes and pulled out a thick textbook which he slammed to the table. Most of the other students in the library glanced up at the sudden disruption of their quiet; a few turned away muttering about 'gutter rats' and 'slummers.' Despite the years that had passed since they'd joined the academy, the old prejudices against the pair still held quite strong.

There was the thump of a closing book and Torn couldn't help looking over. The redheaded girl got up, taking her reading material with her. She cast a scathing look towards Torn and Erol's table on her way over to the check-out desk, and again on her way out the door.

* * *

Ripp limped his way up the stairs to his room, furiously scrubbing tears of pain away on the back of his left hand. Blood dribbled from the cut above his eye, leaking slowly down his face. He turned and slammed his door shut behind him with all his might. His attention turned to his radio and he turned it on, jacking up the volume.

Loud music filled his room as it blared from the speakers; it shook the floor and made his already sore head pound.

Then, and only then, did Ripp finally, finally allow himself to scream. He fell to his knees, twin spikes of pain shooting up his thighs as his joints smacked to the floor. A mixture of blood and hot tears streamed down his face as the cry tore itself up his throat and out of his body. The scream hurt, threatened to shred his throat and leave him voiceless. His anguish was ready to tear him in two, rip him asunder and consume him from the outside in. The agony he felt, lived with, endured, both physical and mental was utterly crippling.

"You said you'd protect me!" he screamed. "You lied, Torn! Why? Why can't you tell?" Ripp found no answers within the walls of his room, his voice lost in the din of the music. "Why? Why won't you come? Torn, please…" The boy's voice shattered and broke giving way to tears. The pre-teen collapsed to the floor, sobs wracking his battered form.

Fang gripped in his hand, as though his very life depended on it, Ripp lay curled up in the foetal position wishing desperately against all odds that his brother would come.

What he wouldn't give to have Torn come home, save him from the agony… Each visit offered him a reprieve, though a small one. It was a tiny consolation, just enough to make it worth it. Just enough to lift his hopes once more.

"Why? Why can't you come? Am I not important enough anymore?" he demanded in between sobs. "You promised! You promised to protect me! Why aren't you here? You said you'd keep me safe! So where are you?"

There was the pounding of feet outside his door, but the footfalls were too heavy for Ripp's wish to have come true. He lay there, unmoving; uncaring if his father had decided he needed further beating back into line. He still hoped that he might get off easy.

Ripp's bedroom door flew open. No such luck.

* * *

"C'mon, turn off the light," Erol mumbled from his cot. "I want to sleep."

Torn sighed. "Really? I was nearly done."

"I don't care. Finish tomorrow."

Again Torn sighed. He closed made a quick note of the page he was on and closed the book. "Fine."

Erol rolled onto his side and watched Torn. "What're you so desperate to get everything done for anyway? I thought you cancelled the visit."

"I like being done my work?"

The redhead shook his head, propping himself up on one elbow. "Not this much. What's the rush?"

Torn rolled his eyes. "Just because you haven't gone home since the first summer we were here doesn't mean that  _I_  don't want to see _my_  family."

Erol shrugged then yawned. "Don't see why you've got to make it sound like I've done something wrong. So I don't have the desire to see the old man anymore, is it  _really_ a crime?"

"No."

"Then you can stop making it sound like I'm the worst son in the universe any time now. Trust me, I'm happier, he's happier, Shari's happier, and their brat's happier. Four way win. Shut off the light."

Torn finished packing up his school things and flicked off the light. "I'm going to be  _really_  glad when we graduate."

"Mmm? Whys that?" Erol asked, burrowing further under his covers.

"I won't be rooming with  _you_  anymore."

"Get bent." Torn rolled his eyes at the comment and went to his cot, pulling back the covers. Erol sat up and watched his roommate's silhouette for a few moments. "You're going to make yourself sick you know, working that hard."

"Shut up, I thought you wanted to sleep."

"I  _do_."

Torn lay down and closed his eyes. His mind, however, was still too active to allow him to rest. Within fifteen minutes, Erol's breathing from the other bed had become soft and slow, punctuated by the occasional murmur.

Sleep refused to come to Torn and he rolled onto his side to watch his roommate, feeling annoyed that the self-proclaimed insomniac had not only fallen asleep so quickly, but also showed such little regard for the coming exams.

If only things were simpler… If only he'd be able to make it back for the weekend…

It was well past two in the morning by the time he managed to get to sleep.

* * *

"Torn."

He felt a jolt as he jerked to consciousness, groaning. "No…"

"Yes." A hand was shaking him by the shoulder. "Wake up already."

"No…" Torn turned and buried his face in his pillow. His head was  _pounding_. "Lemme alone."

" _Wake up_. Come on, idiot. Get up."

Torn smacked the hand away. His head hurt so much it was beginning to make him nauseous. "Go away."

Unfazed, Erol gripped his shoulder again. "Torn, now."

Again, Torn brushed the hand away. "Let me sleep."

This drew a terse 'tsk' sound from Erol. "What in the world's up with you today? Up and at it."

Reluctantly, Torn opened one eye and looked at Erol. The meagre light coming in through the curtains of the room was painful to him. Migraine. Great. He let out a groan and didn't quite miss Erol scowling in confusion.

"Migraine…"

"What? Oh. Damn. I told you that working that much was going to make you sick." Erol nudged Torn with his hand. "You need to get up though."

"No… Leave me alone, I need to  _sleep_."

"Torn,  _now_ ," Erol insisted. "Grab some aspirin and you'll be fine."

"I'll be fine if you leave me alone and let me sleep."

"I already let you sleep through your spare. Get up."

" _What_?" Torn shot up and staggered out of bed. He stumbled, unable to keep his balance and collapsed into Erol's arms.

"You really  _are_  out of it today, aren't you?"

"I'll be fine. Shit. I really needed that time this morning." Torn shoved away from Erol and straightened unsteadily. "Where's the aspirin?"

Erol cocked his head to the side. There was something that looked suspiciously like concern creasing his brow. "Maybe you should skip class today… Just take it easy."

Torn arched a would-be eyebrow at this statement as he tried not to sway in place. "What's up with the sudden change of heart?"

"Frankly, you look like you're about to be sick. But hey, it's your body." Erol shrugged once. "Anyway, I've got to get to class. See you tonight."

"Yeah…Alright."

Erol gave him a quick clap on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Look after yourself."

Torn sighed and headed into the bathroom to grab the aspirin. He caught the sight of his reflection in the mirror and paused to give Erol's suggestion some serious consideration. Maybe he could actually afford to miss a day. It would give him some time to get all of his work done. And studying offered him a lot more flexibility than going to class… If he started to feel really sick, he could always just stop and take a break.

Suddenly, taking the day off got a whole lot more appealing.

* * *

Sunday… The whole weekend up until that point had been nothing shy of torture. Ripp lay curled up on the couch, taking up little more than a seat cushion's worth of space. School the next day would be a mercy compared to what he'd been forced to endure. Ever since Caito had graduated three years previously, Ripp had never quite had the same trouble with bullies; nothing ever compared to his home life.

Simius stalked irritably around the house while Juska retired to the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a book. It was shaping up to be a wholly uneventful evening.

Ripp wanted to get up, go to his room, but he just couldn't find the energy to. His fist closed tightly around his fang necklace and closed his eyes. He missed his brother. Hopefully he'd have time soon. Hopefully he could—

Ripp's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The noise seemed loud in the quiet of the house. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Simius headed towards the door and pulled it open. The look on his face changed from irritation to shock in an instant as he took in the sight of the visitor.

"Hi, Dad."

_Torn_. Despite all of his wounds, Ripp shot up where he sat.  _Torn_! His brother was back, and that was suddenly the only thing that mattered.

Simius gaped at his firstborn. "I thought you were busy…" he said, trying to cover his surprise.

Torn shrugged. "I was, but I pulled a couple late nights, skipped lunch for a day or two, took a day off… I got done. And... Well, I had a couple spare hours tonight, so I thought I'd drop by."

There was something strained in Simius' smile as he ushered Torn inside. "Well, you know we're always glad to see you."

Torn looked around the front landing; something felt…off, very off, but what, he couldn't be sure. For one thing, his father seemed ill at ease and Ripp… Ripp was nowhere in sight, usually the boy ran to the landing the moment he walked in. "Where's Ripp?"

"Living room. Your mother's in the kitchen."

Torn nodded and started for the kitchen first to go greet his mother – after all, once he and Ripp got together, who knew how much attention he'd be paying to his parents?

Simius made a beeline for the living room. He stalked to the couch and seized Ripp by his shirt collar. "You come up with a story, and you come up with it fast. One wrong word out of you and you won't like what comes next," he hissed, voice dripping venom. "Do you understand me?"

Ripp tried to meet his father's gaze and failed.

Simius glared. "I said  _do you understand me_?" he snarled, giving Ripp a firm shake.

The boy nodded fearfully, mumbling a barely coherent, "Yes, sir."

"Good." He practically threw Ripp back down to the couch and sat down in one of the living room chairs.

Ripp shuddered once and pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily against the armrest. What was he going to tell Torn?

He had just over five minutes to think – and hadn't come up with anything. Nothing believable anyway. The moment the teen saw his brother he gasped and ran to the couch. "Ripp, what happened to you?" Without waiting for an answer he sat down and pulled the younger boy close.

Ripp looked up at Torn; Simius cleared his throat pointedly. A knot of fear settled in the pit of his stomach. He needed a story. Now. But what could he say? Ripp blurted out the first thing to come to mind. "I fell down the stairs," he said, voice soft as though he were embarrassed by the tale, rather than terrified of what his father would do to him.

"No  _way_. How far up were you?"

It was safe and warm in Torn's arms… Ripp curled up against his brother, casting a furtive glance at his father and his hawk's gaze. "The top. I just tripped."

Torn ran his fingers thoughtfully through Ripp's hair. "You little klutz…" he muttered, hugging him tighter. It was odd though, once he gave the concept a little thought, he realized that he couldn't remember Ripp ever falling down the stairs, even as a small child. Strange that it would happen now.

Ripp was almost disappointed at the lack of follow up questions. Was the idea of taking a tumble down the stairs  _so_  believable? It didn't really matter. All that he cared about was that his brother was home. Torn was home and just as caring as he'd always been. It was nearly perfect. If only he was staying.

The teen's fingers found their way to the fang at the end of Ripp's necklace and curled around the tooth. "Brat," he said, "Do you  _ever_  take this off?"

Ripp shook his head, grinning. "Never ever."

"You're going to wear a groove in your neck that way."

"Am not."

* * *

The night passed without event. Juska came to join her husband and sons in the living room. For the most part, conversation centered on school with Simius and Juska inquiring about the academy. Torn was happy enough to answer the questions, occasionally posing a few of his own either about Ripp's education, or just home life in general.

Ripp remained quiet for most of the conversation, not in the mood for much chatter. He simply sat with Torn and enjoyed the feeling of the having him back. It was safe and secure and everything that he'd craved for months.

If Torn thought that there was anything exceptionally odd about his visit, he kept the thoughts to himself until he was out the door and back in his and Erol's dorm room once more.

 


	11. Secrets and Strange Occurrences

It was the pounding on his bedroom door that woke Ripp. Well, that and the sound of his father's voice shouting at him through the wood.

"Wake up, you brat!"

Ripp moaned and sat up, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. What time was it? It felt like he'd just gone to sleep. He rolled over and glanced at his clock, maybe he  _had_  just gone to sleep. Two, three…maybe five hours of sleep – if he was lucky, too many late nights were starting to catch up with him.

"Get up, Ripp! Move your skinny ass!"

The teen rolled over, groaning. He grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his head. World's grumpiest alarm clock… Since when did Simius even  _care_  if he was up in time to go to school?

"G'way…" he muttered into the mattress. The doorknob rattled. Ripp shot up in bed. "I'm up! I'm up!" He clambered out of his sheets and tumbled to the floor, landing with a muffled thump. After a moment of flailing, he scrambled over to the dresser and pulled out one of his old shirts, quickly pulling it on. That done, he hunted around for his jeans. They were lying on the floor exactly as he'd thrown them the night before.

Ripp picked up his jeans and fished through the pockets, searching for a particular crumpled piece of paper. It took a minute, but he found it – on the floor. It must have fallen out when he picked up his pants. Half-dressed, Ripp smoothed the paper out on his desk and examined it. He groaned at the notion of how much more work he had ahead of him. Going to be pulling another all-nighter it seemed. He muttered a curse against all of the teachers in the school. They just  _had_  to assign major projects all at the same time, didn't they? Probably. And of course, not only was there work to be done, but Torn was scheduled to visit soon. Great… At least he'd be getting some pocket money; that was  _always_  a plus.

Ripp tugged on his jeans, they were snug and slightly too short, but otherwise still fit him decently enough. Dimly he wondered if he'd finally get some new clothes once he completely out grew these. There was still the off chance that Simus and Juska would make him wear Torn's old uniform; that would be just his luck. Despite the fact that Ripp's high school was slightly higher on the social spectrum than his previous school, being forced to wear a KG uniform would not go over well.

He darted out of his room to the bathroom and glanced around for his comb. He ran it under the tap for a moment before flicking off the excess water so he could quickly comb the knots from his hair. Ripp stole a quick glance at the bathroom door then turned his gaze back to the mirror. He pulled his hair back to get a better look at his face. His black eye was nearly gone; the skin above his cheekbone was still tinted a slight sickly green, but otherwise it was coming along nicely. The split lip he'd gotten a few days previously had healed up nicely too, he noted, poking it with his little finger. He brushed his hair down to better cover the right side of his face and sighed. There wasn't anything else that he could do and he simply didn't have time to lag behind.

Without stopping to grab breakfast, Ripp snatched up his backpack and slipped on his shoes, already halfway out the front door.

* * *

Once upon a time, Ripp would have found the taller boy intimidating the way he glared down his nose at him. But not anymore.

"Well?" the older teen demanded.

"I've got it, give me a second…" He glanced around, just in case any teachers were about to walk by. No one came. The stairwell was deserted and Ripp took it as a sign that it was safe to rummage through his backpack. "Right, so…" He pulled out a poster and three sheets of paper. "Notes, references, poster… That's everything."

The items were practically torn from his hands. "Great. So what do I owe you  _this_  time?"

Smirking, Ripp produced another piece of paper. "Ah yes, of course," he said, mockingly, "Here's your invoice."

"Hey!" the older boy let out a cry of alarm, "Why's this so much more than the last time?" he demanded.

Ripp shrugged. "Supplies. Now…" He held out his hand. "Pay up, I'm a busy guy and I've got to go collect with everyone else."

The taller boy sighed and pulled out his wallet to remove the needed bills. "Here, you scammer. I swear you're purposely jacking up the price on me…"

"No one said you had to use my services. If you've got a problem with it, you could always just do your own damn work," Ripp mock chided, pocketing the cash. He grinned mischievously. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Scammer. I'd better get a good mark."

"Hope you do. I busted my ass on that. Anyway… Gotta run." Ripp shouldered his backpack once more. "See you next project." He smirked and headed off to find his next client.

By the time he'd gotten to his first period class, Ripp had earned himself quite a bit of money. Though probably not the best way to spend his school career, doing projects for other people certainly had its bonuses, even if trying to manage six all due on one day was more than a little wearing.

Ripp gratefully dropped into his seat and laid his head on his desk. Finally he could relax, if only for a few minutes.

"Hi, Ripp," a sweet, musical voice said.

He lifted his head a little and looked up. His heart pounded in his chest and he couldn't help the grin that lit his face. Leeta… Angel of the class… The angle he was looking at her only accentuated this opinion of her – her head was blocking one of the lights in the classroom and it was giving her the effect of having a glowing halo. Beautiful.

"Hi…"

She smiled at him and went to go take her seat. Ripp watched her lazily. He should've said something more conversation-provoking, or maybe a compliment… Something beyond 'hi.' But it was too late now. She was pulling out her books and chatting with the girl she sat next to. Dimly, Ripp wondered what it was like to interact so easily with others.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a pair of menacing hands slamming down on either side of his desk.

"Stay away from Leeta, slummer!"

It was with great reluctance that Ripp tore his gaze from Leeta and sat up, looking at the boy. "Go away."

"Not until you get it through that thick skull of yours to stay away from  _my girl_."

Ripp yawned and flicked a hand at him. "Go  _away_. I'm too tired to argue."

"Well, that's  _your_  fault, isn't it?" The boy seized the collar of Ripp's shirt and hauled him up slightly. "You listen to me and you listen close, gutter rat. Leeta is  _mine_. I'm not going to lose her to the likes of scum like you."

"Your argument would make more sense if we all weren't at the same school," Ripp said drily.

"Don't you try to change the subject! Find yourself a girl you can actually get and leave mine alone."

Ripp sighed. "Viran, really…" It was the same thing. Every time he and Leeta spoke, however briefly, and Viran was nearby to witness it, Ripp wound up getting the same spiel. He calmly grabbed Viran's hand and squeezed a pressure point, forcing the other boy to let go. "Start threatening me when she's actually your girlfriend. Kay?"

"You little-!"

There was the sound of the door to the classroom snapping shut and the click of the teacher's high heels on the floor. Viran gave Ripp one final, hard glare before going to take his seat.

* * *

Torn tore the top off of the envelope, whatever information it contained had be important if it wasn't trusted to the KG's computer system. Inside he found a thick booklet of paper, held together with a single clip. That was strange.

Scowling, the young second lieutenant flipped up the first page and scanned it quickly. So far nothing particularly interesting, he skimmed the rest of the written pages of the document. Nothing caught his eyes.

He sighed and leafed through the rest of the document without much interest. It didn't look like anything interesting or sensitive enough to warrant sending the hard copy. There were lots of maps. Maps of Haven, the forest, Dead Town, the eco mines… It appeared to be all basic information. His gaze fell on the last few pages: the floor plan of the palace. Every exit and passageway was carefully noted.

Torn blinked, mildly surprised. The Krimzon Guard wasn't typically privy to such detailed information about something as specific as the palace. Only the Royal Guard – the handpicked sentries of the royal family – had access to such information.

So why did he, Torn, now have the map detailing every little thing about the palace layout?

Something seemed very off about the whole affair. He turned the envelope over and checked the authorization number on the envelope. It wasn't one he recognized, but that only meant that it wasn't one of the superior officers that he was used to dealing with. Nor was it Commander Tapani's – the head of the KG. Had there been some sort of mistake…?

He got up and headed to his computer, opening up the guard database. He typed in the authorization code and waited for it to sort through personnel. It gave him a single result. He clicked on the name and sat back to wait for the information on the man to load. It was surprisingly fast. The moment Torn looked at the page, he understood why.

_Name: Praxis_

_Station: Royal Guard_

_Information: Classified_

Nothing else was on the page; just a photo of the man – a serious looking fellow with brown hair and eyes – and the small amount of text, the rest was empty blackness.

For a moment it was all that Torn could do to stare at the screen, then he looked at the booklet he still held and back. Now things really didn't add up. How had information from a Royal Guard gotten into his hands?

More importantly…  _Why_?

* * *

At lunch, Ripp sat at his customary table in the farthest corner of the cafeteria. He scribbled down hasty notes on a piece of lined paper, occasionally consulting his agenda for clarification on one thing or another. No one bothered him, not unless they had need of his services.

He looked at the note paper again. His social studies teacher had assigned the class a free project on a social issue of their choice. They were to study the issue in depth and present the topic to the class. It was due in a month, more than enough time for Ripp; he'd already picked his subject.

That's what the note paper was for. He was jotting down everything he already knew, prior to actually going to research. There was quite a lot.

The chair across from him scraped on the floor. Someone wanted him to do…something. Without taking his eyes from his paper, Ripp pulled his cost sheet out of his bag and slid it across the table to his company.

There was a moment of silence, followed by a very confused inquiry, "What? Ripp, what is this?"

He froze. "Something I probably shouldn't have given you."

Leeta set the paper back down on the table and stared at him. She made no motion to hand the sheet back to him however. "Is this why you're always so tired?"

"Give it back, please."

"Ripp… Why?"

He lifted his gaze from his note sheet and looked at her. How could he possibly explain it to  _her_? Some beautiful girl in a well off family, what would she possibly understand about the depths he had to sink himself to? About what he had to do just so he could survive in a world that was determined to kill him?

"Please, just give it back. It's a reflex."

"A reflex?" she demanded, "How often do you do this? What happens if you're caught? This could destroy your chances of going to college, or university, or…anything post-secondary!" Before he could stop her, Leeta reached out and seized his agenda.

"Leeta, don-"

Too late, he watched horrified and ashamed as she flipped through it. Her eyes widening more with everything she took in.

"Ripp…"

He tugged the book back out of her grasp. "Look, it's just something I do. People don't want to do projects, or essays or whatever; I've got loads of spare time. It works out well in the end."

She pursed her lips, looking critically at him. Ripp squirmed slightly.

"Don't teachers get…you know…suspicious?" she asked.

Ripp shook his head. "Not really. I'm the best forger at the school. Fact."

Leeta simply stared at him for a moment. He couldn't quite decide what her expression was. It was either horror, or disgust, or maybe…pity?

"Um… So what brought you over here, anyway?"

A small smiled played about her lips. "Actually, I wanted to talk about our upcoming social project, but not like this." She indicated the paper and finally handed it back to him. "I was wondering if…maybe…you wanted to partner up."

His heart seemed to skip a beat and he just stared at her for a moment.  _Leeta_  wanted to partner up with  _him_? It was unreal. He was dreaming.

"I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine, but I just thought I'd ask. Cause you're always doing everything by yourself…"

He considered this. There were definite bonuses from what he could see, and not all of them were academic. Getting to spend time with Leeta…it was nearly enough to seal the deal right there, but there was still the potential for a huge can of worms to be opened.

Ripp bit his lip. "Did you have a topic in mind?"

Leeta shook her head. "No. Do you?"

"Yeah, but it sucks…"

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Leeta said, tucking some hair behind her ear. "What is it?"

He sighed once and offered her his note sheet.

"Domestic abuse?" she asked, reading the top line of the page. "And here I was expecting something like the drug trade…"

He shrugged. "We don't have to do that, it was just…a thought…" he trailed off hopelessly then jumped a little as Leeta reached out to touch his hand.

"I think it sounds interesting."

Interesting… well, that was certainly one way to describe his life he supposed. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, really."

He couldn't help smiling at her before he glanced around for anyone who might have wanted him. Spying no potential that day, Ripp began to put his things away and stood up.

"Ripp?"

His fingers brushed against the back of Leeta's hand, small trills of delight shooting up his arm. "I'll see you in math. I've got to meet with one of the coaches. We'll plan this more then, kay?"

She nodded, but Ripp didn't miss how put off she looked. "Okay. See you."

He gave her a quick nod and took off for the gym.

* * *

In the end, Torn decided against mentioning the envelope to Erol, or anyone else for that matter. His gut was telling him that there was something much more significant at play than a simple mistaken transfer of information, but what exactly it could be, he wasn't sure. It was, however, leaving him preoccupied and rather distracted. What could it mean?

He sighed and stuck envelope and its contents in the bottom drawer of his desk and locked it. Until he knew what it was and why it had been given to him, there was simply no point in chancing anything.

For a moment, Torn merely sat there at his desk before he got to his feet and headed towards his closet. He yanked it open and pulled out his armour. Night patrol at the bazaar… Great. At least he was practically guaranteed to have an interesting patrol. There were always strange things going on in that part of the city. Shoplifters, pickpockets, illicit vendors, people who were there to see the strange mystic… He was always tempted to actually pay a visit to the woman, just to see what the fuss was all about. From the stories he'd heard, it would prove to be an interesting experience.

Torn pulled on his armour, checking that he had his knife fastened securely, the last thing he wanted was some overzealous pickpocket to snatch it from him. He grabbed his rifle and headed out of the room, locking the door securely behind him.

* * *

It was pouring rain by the time that Ripp got home. Why did Haven never seem to have any other weather? Getting to see the sun every now and again would be a nice change. He was drenched and pushed the door opened gratefully. He'd beaten Simius home. A quick glance at the front landing confirmed this fact when he didn't see his father's shoes. Perfect.

He slipped off his shoes and socks, gave his head a quick shake that sent water flying in all directions and headed up to his room. His backpack was dropped unceremoniously on the floor by his desk and ignored as Ripp pulled open the drawers of his dresser to dig out some dry clothes.

The t-shirt he selected was tight across the chest and short to the point that his midriff showed if he moved the right way, it wasn't too uncomfortable though. The jeans he'd found, however, were a different story; they fit worse than the ones he'd just had to take off.

"Going to have to start raiding Torn's room again…" he muttered, displeased by the notion of what awaited him there. Practically the only thing that was left in Torn's room was the old KG uniform. He couldn't even begin to fathom what would happen if he needed to wear that to school – but then again, it would be nice to have something that  _fit_. Sighing, Ripp gathered up his wet clothes and carried them to the bathroom. He wrung them out in the tub and hung them over the curtain rod to dry.

It was only then that Ripp realized that he hadn't seen or heard his mother since he'd gotten home. A hand went to his necklace anxiously, fear settled in the pit of his stomach. If she wasn't home… If she'd gotten sick… The teen darted out of the bathroom and down to the kitchen. She wasn't there. Nor was she in the living room. He clutched the fang tighter, knuckles turning white. There was just one last place to look before he could really start to panic.

He slunk to his parents' room and slowly opened the door, not daring to let it squeak. A small sigh of relief escaped him as he saw Juska asleep in the bed. He smiled a little as he headed back down to the kitchen to make a strong pot of coffee. He was going to need it for the night ahead.

As he waited for the coffee to brew, Ripp examined the calendar on the kitchen wall and cursed. It was his night to make dinner. It would be too much to hope for to think that he could somehow weasel his way out of it. As long as he could find something substantial that would be fast…

The coffeemaker clicked off and Ripp pulled open a cupboard to retrieve his thermos. With a sigh, he emptied the hot drink into his container and rinsed out the coffee pot. His eyes darted to the clock. His father would be getting home soon and wanting dinner.

So much for getting an early start on his homework.


	12. Subtle Cry

Ripp awoke at his desk with a yawn. He'd been too tired to move from the night before and was now regretting the choice to sleep there. He was  _stiff_ , but that was really only to be expected after falling asleep hunched over his desk. He sat up straighter and stretched his spine, looking towards his clock. With an oath, Ripp jumped to his feet, swearing. Everything was stuffed into his backpack and he darted to the bathroom. Without bothering to do his usual injury evaluation, Ripp grabbed his clothes from the curtain rod and pulled them on, repressing shivers at the lingering dampness. If the weather forecast was anything like the previous day, it simply wouldn't matter that his clothes were still damp; they'd just be getting soaked again. He combed his hair hurriedly, still muttering under his breath.

He bolted downstairs, startling his mother from her morning cup of coffee. "Ripp-!"

"Hi, Mom!" He darted down the stairs to the landing, jumping the last five steps and landing with a less than graceful clatter. "Bye, Mom!"

"Ripp, you're not heading off already, are you?" his mother called from the kitchen doorway. One pale, trembling hand rested against the doorframe as she watched her son.

Ripp stamped on his sneakers and yanked open the door. "Yeah, gotta run. Bye!" He passed off a quick wave at Juska and in moments had sprinted out the door.

It was drizzling slightly by the time Ripp got to school, but it looked like the weather might actually end up being almost pleasant. He darted into the building and ran to his locker, skidding to a stop with an unpleasant squeal. He was fumbling his way through his combination when he was interrupted by the coach he met with every lunch hour.

"Ripp, can I talk to you?"

The teen released his lock and turned slowly to face the coach. "Yes, Mr. Elston?"

Elston crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his hawkish nose at Ripp. "I think it's about time you and I had a chat about these lunch hour lessons."

Ripp sighed, shoulders slumping and hands dropping limply to his sides. "Alright. Shoot."

"You're not in trouble, Ripp. I just need to know. Why do you feel the need to learn all this stuff?"

He couldn't bear to meet the man's gaze, couldn't stand to look him in the eyes and lie, not like he did with everyone else. His muddy, torn sneakers suddenly seemed exceptionally interesting. "It's just…good to know…" he mumbled.

"Ripp, you're too committed to this for that to be the only reason. Are you having trouble with other kids?" Elston asked, putting a hand on Ripp's shoulder. "You can tell me."

He looked from the hand on his shoulder to Elston's earnest face and back then down at his shoes once more. "A little harassment here and there," he admitted, "But that's not why I want to learn this. Really."

It was apparent from the look on Elston's face that he wasn't convinced. He fixed Ripp with a sceptical gaze. "Then  _why_?"

"I'm not safe. At home it's just…" he shuffled nervously, "it's dangerous there…"

"The slums."

Ripp nodded. "Yeah…" That wasn't  _exactly_  what he'd been getting at, but he didn't care to elaborate. "And…I'm not that big, I'm not that strong, I'm…not much of anything at all."

"Don't say that," the coach said, squeezing Ripp's shoulder. "You've just got to grow into yourself. If you start having serious troubles, I don't want you to try and deal with it on your own, okay?"

Ripp nodded solemnly. "Okay, Mr. Elston."

"You can tell me  _anything_ , you know that, don't you?"

Again, Ripp nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. It was painfully familiar, an awkward reminder of words he had once shared with his brother and believed with a passion, a promise that seemed to have hollowed somewhat over the years. "I do."

"Good kid."

Ripp managed a small smile. "We are still on for lessons at lunch, right?"

Elston grinned. "You know where to find me."

* * *

There was another envelope. It was all Torn could do to stare at it. "What the  _hell_?" He'd come back from his night shift to find that someone had stuck the envelope under the door to his room. Too tired from the patrol to bother opening it, he stuck it on his nightstand.

Someone  _had_  to have gotten him mixed up with someone else. It was at that point that he decided that he  _would_  mention it to Erol the next time that he saw him. After all, it couldn't hurt.

* * *

"Brown envelopes?" The redhead blinked at Torn. "Yeah, I've been getting them. What about them?"

"You don't think there's anything weird about that?"

Erol just shrugged. "No, not particularly. It's all just procedures and stuff. It's not sent on computer in case we get hacked."

Torn didn't look convinced at all. "But it was issued by a Royal Guard. There's information about the palace and the royal family and-" He trailed off, seeing Erol's exasperated eye roll.

"You worry  _way_  too much. Like I said, it's all just standard procedures and stuff.  _That's_  in case there's a situation that the RG can't handle without our help. Didn't you even  _read_ everything?"

"Well…" Torn sighed.

"God, you're totally hopeless." Erol shook his head in false dismay. "The moment something weird happens, you freak out. How did you ever pass at the academy?"

"I think we both know the answer to that."

"True. Anyway, don't sweat the envelopes. Praxis knows what he's doing; probably he's just trying to prepare everything. Word on the street is that Damas' position in this city's getting threatened. If I was in the same position as Praxis I'd probably be doing the same thing. It's just common sense, really. I mean, better to try and organize everything early on rather than figure it out in the middle of a mess."

Torn looked at him sceptically. "Where to you get all of this?"

Erol smirked. "I'm nosy. And I have connections."

"Oh, of course you do," Torn muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Speaking of my 'connections' I'm likely having a 'rendezvous' with them tonight. Why don't you come along?"

"You want to go drinking, don't you?" Torn asked, flatly.

"Damn straight, you in?"

* * *

Leeta place her hand delicately on the back of Ripp's and smiled at him. Her smile was returned with a shaky grin on Ripp's part.

"So, I was thinking we should get together."

Ripp blinked. "Get together?" he asked. How so? She couldn't mean…as a  _couple_ , right?

His confusion must've shown because Leeta laughed. "To work on the project, silly. I mean, we're miles ahead of everyone else."

This was true. What with Ripp's ability to work quickly and his pre-existing knowledge of their topic, his portion of the research was already done after a couple days, and Leeta – no slacker herself – had taken to the subject like an accountant to numbers. With their combined efforts, their project was well underway while everyone in their class seemed to just be getting started.

"Right, of course." What else would she have been talking about other than the project? "When? Where?"

Again, this question was met with a smile. It was like she found him extremely interesting. "I think maybe tomorrow after school? One of our houses would probably work."

Ripp nodded. "The notice might be a bit short for my parents, but…okay. No harm in asking, right?" He let out a short bark of laughter and looked at Leeta, stomach rolling around. There was no way Simius would ever let him out of the house, not even for school, but the idea of Leeta having to see where he lived made him feel nervous to the point of nausea.

She was watching him. Ripp could feel her eyes on him without looking at her. "So," she said, beginning the obvious next question, "Your place or mine?"

He sighed. "Mine, I guess. My parents are kinda…weird about me going to other people's houses." Meaning it didn't happen. At all.

Leeta gave him a slightly strange look. "Alright then. So we'll each check with our parents tonight, then? Want to give me a call when you know?"

"Um…sure. I guess. But I kinda need-"

"My number?" Leeta finished helpfully. "I know. Here." Smiling, she tore a page out of her notebook and ripped it in half. She slid half the sheet across their desks towards Ripp. "I'll want yours too."

He nodded and handed the paper back after scrawling his phone number on it. She grinned as she took it, exchanging it for the one she'd written her information on. There were two numbers on her sheet.

"The second one's my cell," she explained. "Arv likes hogging the phone line sometimes."

Ripp glanced up from his attempt to commit the numbers to memory. "Arv?"

She giggled. "My brother. Arven. Don't worry though, he's harmless."

Ripp blinked at her. Why in the world would she say that about her brother? Just what the heck was he  _like_?

* * *

Something out of the corner of Torn's eye caught his attention and he turned. His breath caught in his chest. That woman… He would have recognized that slender figure anywhere. Ever since that day he'd seen her in the library… Well, she'd managed to make an impression. She still carried herself with the authority and dignity that she had back then, and the past few years had only served to heighten her feminine appeal.

She sat down at an unoccupied table and looked around her, vibrant green eyes flashing dangerously in the low light. She was a challenge, daring anyone who thought they had the nerve to come and face her.

Erol cast a glance towards her, following Torn's distracted gaze. He smirked and nudged Torn in the ribs with his elbow. "Go on," he urged, "Go talk to her."

Torn managed to pull his gaze from the woman and stared at Erol, shaking his head. "No way. You aren't serious."

It earned him another elbow in the ribs. "Yes way. I am. Honestly, Torn, if you won't go talk to her, I  _will_."

Torn shrugged. "It's a free country."

Erol snorted once. "No it's not. They just want us to think it is."

This prompted an exasperated eye roll from Torn. "Shut up. I'm not going to stop you."

"Well, in that case…" Erol flashed him a smirk before strutting off to the table that the redheaded woman occupied. He took the empty seat across from her without asking fixed her firmly in his golden gaze.

Her attention snapped to him. "Can I  _help_  you?" she asked, irritation clear in her voice.

Erol shook his head. "I'm just trying to figure out what a pretty vixen like you would be doing sitting all by herself."

She didn't respond, fixing Erol with a smoldering glare. The lieutenant chose not to take note. He leaned across the table, characteristic smirk in place. "What do you say to coming back to my place later for a round of 'fox and the hound'?"

Hands slammed to the tabletop and the woman shot to her feet. "Listen here, you  _creep-_ " That was as far as she got.

Torn had heard every word and quickly come to the realization that Erol was messing with the wrong girl. In a few quick steps, Torn had reached the table and seized Erol by the arm, hauling him to his feet.

"What the hell do you think you're  _doing_?" Torn demanded. "Leave her alone, would you? She's got better things to do than have you waste her time."

To anyone less familiar with the redhead, Erol's look of surprise would have seemed genuine. But not to Torn. Those golden eyes were laughing behind the mock surprise. "Fine. If you insist." Erol tugged his arm free of Torn's grasp and stalked off to go flirt much more casually with a different woman.

The red-haired woman huffed once and sat back down.

There was a moment of indecisiveness before Torn indicated Erol's recently vacated seat. "Do you mind?"

She appeared to weigh the options before giving him her answer. A sigh and a shake of her head. "No, go ahead. I guess."

He sat and looked at her. "Sorry about him," he said flicking his head in Erol's direction. "He's kinda…forward…sometimes." Torn sighed and scratched – slightly nervously – at the back of his neck.

"No argument here. That was pretty tactless of him." This statement was followed by a shrug. "I'm used to it though, even if it is pretty annoying. Thanks for getting rid of him."

"No problem. I'm kinda used to dealing with him. Known him for years and we roomed together at the academy."

At this, the woman arched a thin, red eyebrow at him. "Usually they try to break up friendships and make sure you're with someone you've never met. Keeps the mischief down. How'd you manage to stay together?"

Torn was about to reply, when she interrupted him. "Have you got your tags on you?"

"Always do," he said, fishing the chain out from under his shirt to show her the two flat metal dog tags.

She reached across the table, pulling one of the tags closer to get a good look at it. "Torn, huh? Nice to meet you. She cast what appeared to be a cursory glance at his ID number. "Nine seven one… Well,  _that_  explains things."

Torn gave her an uncomprehending look as she released his tags. "I fail to see how."

She flicked her head in Erol's general direction. "He's six six six, isn't he? The pair of you are legends at the academy. Infamous, really."

Torn nodded slowly. "Seemed to be pretty well known while we were still studying there too."

"Well, it's not often that the lower class get in. Or rather, it's not often that they volunteer themselves for the duty. I'm sure it was interesting, and you certainly made names for yourselves. Students will be talking about you long after we're all gone." A brief smile lit her face and she stuck out her right hand. "I'm Ashelin. Nice to meet you."

* * *

It was dinner when Ripp decided to bring up the topic of Leeta coming over so the pair of them could work on their project. He just had to come up with a good way of asking. He glanced at his father; Simius had already had a few drinks since he'd gotten home, with a little luck it would keep his temper cooled. His eyes flickered to his mother. Juska was looking rather pale and sickly; the hand holding her fork shook. It wasn't exactly the most hopeful sign in the world.

The teen reached for his glass and took a drink as he prepared to crack the barrier of silence that settled over the dinner table. He wasn't sure his nerves could handle it. Dinner was so often a solemn affair with very little in the way of conversation… Ripp couldn't deny feeling uneasy about disrupting that.

He coughed.

Neither of his parents looked at him.

"So…"

Juska looked up, lowering her fork. Simius scowled at his son.

Ripp couldn't help shrinking back in his seat – just a little. "Um… I've got a project that I'm working on for school…with a friend." He'd made it that far without being interrupted, he had to go on. "So, I was wondering if…if it'd be alright if they could…come over to work on it?" He trailed off lamely. Not  _quite_  the confident sort of phrasing he'd been hoping for, but it was better than nothing.

A fork clattered to a plate. It wasn't a shocked clatter, it was one of anger.

"Excuse  _me_?" Simius snarled.

He had to commit. Ripp swallowed once and said, "Tomorrow. I was hoping it'd be alright if my project partner came over to…to work on it after school." His nerve died and he looked down, too afraid to see the anger in his eyes. He was asking the near impossible. Never had he been permitted to see anyone outside of school hours. He could hear Simius' impending roar of fury simply in the way his breathing changed. Any second now…

It didn't come. Ripp looked up and saw that Juska had placed a hand on his father's arm. "Simius," she said, "It's a  _project_. We can let it slide this time."

Ripp blinked. His mother was actually taking  _his_  side? This was new.

"And what if we do? What then? He'll start coming home when  _he_  wants to, he'll start making his own rules and then what?"

"Simius, it's one day, that won't happen."

Ripp felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle and pointedly didn't look at his father. For two tense heartbeats, Simius seemed prepared to argue the point, and then he grunted once and returned to his dinner. Surely the alcohol had helped tone down the situation, if only a little, Ripp felt sure of it.

He didn't give Simius a chance to change his mind, however. Ripp wolfed down the remainder of his dinner, took his plate over to the sink and then headed for his room, taking the cordless phone with him.

Biting his lip, Ripp closed his bedroom door and pulled Leeta's number out of his pocket. His fingers were trembling as he dialled and he was all too aware of his heart pounding in his chest.

The phone was answered after three and a half rings.

"Hello?"

He couldn't quite disguise a sigh of relief at Leeta's voice, knowing that he wasn't about to try and speak with one of her parents. Or her brother. "Hey, Leeta. I got things cleared on my end."

She giggled. "Cool. My parents are fine with it. Pretty easy, huh?"

"Yeah… piece of cake." Only because his father was drunk and his mother was in a bit of an oddly helpful mood. "No sweat, right?"

Another giggle. "Right. So, see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, definitely."

She was smiling. Ripp could hear it in her voice. "Kay, well, I've got to go… So… I'll talk to you later?"

"Yeah, talk to you later. Bye." He hung up. With a sigh, he slunk back downstairs and put the phone back in its charger before retreating to his room once more. One last group of projects and then he was done. At least for the moment.

He pulled out his sheet; almost all of the commissioned projects had been crossed off. He pulled out what he'd completed on the first remaining project and set to work.

It was half past two the next morning before Ripp had finally completed everything and gone to sleep – still in his clothes.

* * *

The blaring of his alarm came too soon and Ripp's eyes flickered open accompanied by an unhappy moan. His first thought was that at least he was done everything – even if he had dreamt about doing schoolwork all night – and he might actually be able to get a few full nights' sleep before he was overwhelmed by school again. That would be nice.

He changed into clean, if worse fitting, clothes quickly and headed off to school in record time, allowing himself plenty of time to find everyone and get paid. And then…after school he'd be getting to spend time with Leeta… Caterpillars were crawling around his stomach at the thought, preparing to grow into butterflies as the day wore on.

Being in the rush he was, Ripp failed to notice that he'd beat Simius out the door, and that he hadn't seen his mother at all.

* * *

Torn fixed Ashelin with a look of utter disbelief, she'd dropped by his office that morning. "War?"

She nodded solemnly from where she sat on the corner of his desk. "It seems so."

"But they're nothing but animals."

She shook her head, dreadlocks waving slightly. "You know as well as I do that's not true." A thin, red eyebrow arched. "Unless of course you were lying last night when you were telling me about how you got those skull gems that got you into the academy."

Torn sighed. "Alright, true. But still, they hardly seem like something that Damas can declare war on."

"My father's convinced they're a threat to us, he says that they're easily planning against Haven and that Damas would have to be out of his mind not to try and do something about it."

Torn gave her a look. "With all due respect, I sincerely doubt that your father knows or understands our king."

She smiled slight. "You're wrong there. About both."

He arched half of his hairless brow.

"He's Praxis of the Royal Guard."

Torn blinked. Of all the answers Ashelin could have given him, he didn't expect  _that_  one. "Your father's  _Praxis_?"

She nodded. "Don't assume, Torn. It makes you look stupid."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry."

Ashelin shook her head and was about to say something else when she was interrupted by the phone on Torn's desk trilling loudly.

The lieutenant raised a finger to her. "Just a second." He sighed and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" There was a pause and concern etched its way onto his face. "Dad? Dad, what's wrong?"

* * *

Ripp had to force a smile as he led Leeta towards the door to his house. She'd been making an odd face ever since she realized that they were heading for one of the worse parts of town. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Leeta followed nervously, clutching at the strap of her backpack as though she feared someone would jump out of the way and try to steal it.

"Well… This is it. Home sweet home." It took a surprising effort for Ripp's words to not take a sarcastic turn. "Not too much, but it's a roof."

Leeta managed to nod slowly, looking around. Her fingers twitched as though she were looking for something to wash her hands. "Well, it's not bad. You had me worried when we started heading for the slums." The hand that wasn't holding the strap of her bag flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry! That was rude of me."

It was all Ripp could do to laugh, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. I know I'm on the low end of the social spectrum." He was smiling a little when he looked at her. "Though I've always wondered a bit about  _you_."

Leeta grinned, tucking some of her hair innocently behind one ear. "What's there to wonder?" she asked.

"Well..." Ripp bit his lip. "You're not exactly in my social class, so... I guess I'm just wondering what you're doing at a school like ours. It's kinda...y'know,  _low_  for you, isn't it?"

She laughed; it was a clear, bright laugh. "You wouldn't think it, but the school that people in my district are assigned to is in really rough shape. And this one's pretty good and not too out of the way." Her smile was infectious. "Is that so weird?"

Ripp shook his head. "Nah, not really."

It seemed that Leeta was becoming more relaxed with her unfamiliar location, though she still looked around somewhat nervously. "Viran and Garret always call you a slummer, but I never thought that it was…well…  _true_."

"'Fraid so. Genuine slummer, right here," he said, slapping himself once on the chest. "But enough about my social standing." It was a painful reminder of how far below her he really  _was_. "Shall we get to work?"

She smiled a little. "Alright. Where should we set up?"

"Living room would probably be the best place," he said, kicking off his shoes. "Unless Mom would rather us work somewhere else." He started up the stairs from the landing, gesturing for Leeta to follow him. The kitchen was vacant as they passed it, as was the living room. Ripp dropped his bag in the middle of the floor. Something seemed wrong. An icy knot formed in his stomach. Where was Juska?

"I'll be right back; I'm going to go check something."

Leeta nodded. "Go ahead."

Ripp left the living room and headed for his parents' bedroom. The door opened ominously into them emptiness of the room beyond. The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach spread, filling his chest and grasping at his heart. His mother was gone. He kept looking for her as he headed back to the living room. There was no sign of her. Where was Juska?

He sighed and sat on the floor, watching as Leeta unpacked their supplies. The cordless phone lay on the coffee table, though how it had gotten there was a bit of a mystery.

"Ripp, I think you've got a message…" Leeta's voice was soft as she pointed to the phone and its blinking red light.

"What? Oh. Thanks." He managed a grin and picked it up, listening to the voicemail. His heart plummeted. Simius had called and suddenly the lack of his mother made altogether too much sense. "No…No, no, no, no…" he muttered as the message ended.

"Ripp? What's wrong?" You don't look so good."

He sighed and set the phone down. "My mom's sick. She's in the hospital…"

Leeta gasped and reached out to grab his hand. "I'm so sorry. Is she going to be okay?"

Instinctively, his fingers curled around hers. "I don't know. It's too soon to tell." His hand was being squeezed and he looked at Leeta.

"Are  _you_  going to be okay?"

"Uh…probably?" He was surprised as Leeta suddenly yanked him into a hug, squeezing tightly. For a moment he was too surprised to react, and then he was hugging her back, face pressing against her neck. "Fanks," he mumbled. They stayed that way for a little while before Ripp muttered, "'Oo fmell nif," into her shoulder.

Leeta straightened and pulled away. "What?"

He shook his head, hoping that the sudden burning in his cheeks wasn't showing up as a blush. "Nothing. Never mind. We should probably start working. A distraction would be kinda nice."

She nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

* * *

They'd been working for just over two hours by the time that Simius got home. The front door slammed shut, announcing his arrival.

"Ripp!"

The boy cringed and got to his feet. "I'll be right back…"

Leeta nodded at him. "Go ahead."

Ripp slunk down to the entranceway where Simius stood, fuming. " _What_  is the meaning of this?" he demanded, pointing furiously at Leeta's shoes.

"My social partner's over so we can work on our project?" he tried not to give his father an intelligence insulting look and failed. "I asked you and Mom last night at dinner if it was alright."

Simius glared hard at him. "Don't get smart. You  _know_  the rules."

" _Mom_  said I could have her over. She said it was alright because it was for school."

"I remember no such thing."

"But Mom said-!" Ripp was interrupted by his father grabbing him by the shirt collar.

"Well  _Mom's_  not here right now, is she?" Simius said, his free hand drawing back, fist formed.

Ripp cringed and turned his head at the last moment to ensure that the blow collided with the half of his face covered by hair. He didn't dare give Simius the satisfaction of crying out, merely glared at him from beneath his fringe of hair.

"My roof, my rules. Next time, you  _stick to them_. Finish your damn project and get her out of here. I've got my own schooling to give you."

Ripp nodded hopelessly. "Yes, Dad."

* * *

It was nearly eight in the evening when Leeta's brother came to get her. Ripp answered the door and stood there for a moment, slightly shell shocked. He'd never seen someone quite as large as Arven before. His mouth went dry as he looked up at him; one hand instinctively went to his necklace to clutch at the fang.

"I'm here for Leeta," he boomed, deep voice making Ripp feel as though his very bones were vibrating. "You'd best not have done anything to her, boy."

Leeta giggled from where she stood behind Ripp, pulling her shoes on. She slung her backpack over one shoulder as she moved towards her brother. "Hey, Arv. I'm  _fine_." She turned to her friend. "Well, thanks for having me over. I've got a really good feeling about this project." She beamed at him.

Ripp nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

"And you're getting the pictures tonight, right?"

Another nod. "You bet."

"Brilliant. Thanks, Ripp." She stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. "See you tomorrow."

The moment the door clicked shut behind Leeta and her brother, Simius was there, sliding the deadbolt into place. He turned to Ripp, eyes cold. "Well, brat, time for your lesson."

The 'lesson' lasted a long while, until it ended abruptly with a phone call from the hospital. Juska had suddenly taken a turn for the worse and Simius quickly decided to go back and spend the night with his wife.

It was the perfect opportunity for Ripp. He dragged himself to his room and hauled open his closet. After a few minutes of hunting, he found and pulled out an old Polaroid camera. If Leeta wanted pictures, she'd get pictures. He headed into the bathroom and clipped back his long fringe of hair revealing a still forming black eye. Perfect.


	13. Confidant

Torn sighed and drew one of his pistols, fixing Erol with a sceptical look. The redhead paid little attention to this as he whipped out his own weapon.

"This is  _so_  pointless. I've got other stuff that I could be doing…"

Erol rolled his eyes. "Don't we all? But I think  _this_  is a heck of a lot more useful than whatever you think has more point. Besides, according to your  _girlfriend_ …"

"She is  _not_  my girlfriend!"

The protest merely earned Torn a snicker. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

"She's not!"

The redhead checked his gun with feigned disinterest. "Not yet maybe." He smirked, barely glancing up to look at Torn. "When you marry her, are you going to finally accept it and call her your wife?"

Torn's mouth opened, shut and he scowled at Erol. "I am  _not_  going to marry Ashelin."

"Yet." Without allowing Torn to the chance to reply, Erol looked up at the other man, causing the lights of the training centre to glint off his racing mask. "I'll go first, shall I?" he asked, "Set the bar nice and high?"

"Sure, knock yourself out."

With a smirk, Erol raised his weapon and headed towards the doors of the gun course. They hissed open and he stepped inside.

Torn sat down on a stack of KG crates while he waited for Erol to return. He watched the scoreboard over the gun course's exit doors with almost complete indifference. It showed that Erol's score was steadily rising with only the occasional dip signifying when the other Krimzon Guard hit the civilian targets.

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. Erol's real motivation for bringing him wasn't all that hard to figure out. Clearly the other man was hoping that he'd be able to take his mind off of what was going on with his parents. So far, it hadn't really worked.

Simius had told him not to bother coming back for the scheduled visit since Juska would certainly still be in the hospital for it. It was odd, certainly, but it also disturbed Torn that he'd heard nothing from Ripp about the whole affair. Something about the lack of Ripp's contact didn't sit right with him, but at that point he hadn't heard so much as a mild complaint.

And then there was the matter of wondering how Simius and Juska would be able to keep up with rent payments. It wasn't like keeping Juska in the hospital was cheap; and there weren't too many more places that Simius could trim the family budget. Torn had offered to help with the rent when his father had called, but Simius had shot the idea down without a second thought…

He looked up as the exit doors of the gun course hissed open and a slightly breathless Erol stepped out.

"Right, well, your turn. Beat it if you can."

Torn snapped back to reality and hefted his pistols in both hands. He gave his head a quick shake to clear it; surely he was overthinking everything with his family. If they needed help, they'd have taken it, right? He turned his eyes upon Erol's score and blinked. It was  _high_. Not that he was about to let that put him off. "Piece of cake, right?"

Erol didn't look at all convinced. "We'll see."

* * *

Leeta smiled at Ripp as he came to sit next to her in the back corner of the classroom. Across the room, Viran's partner – Garret – was forced to pull him back down into his seat to keep him from storming over to the pair.

Ripp grinned right back at her, determined that it not become a grimace of pain. His lip was split from the previous night and his right eye smarted if he made too strong of any expression. There were various other cuts, bumps, and bruises, but the ones on his face were the ones that he feared giving away.

Leeta pulled their near-complete poster out of her bag and unrolled it across their desks; her hand inadvertently brushed Ripp's and she giggled.

"Did you get the pictures?" she asked sweetly.

He nodded. "Sure did." He pulled the photos out of his backpack and spread them out in front of her. "If there's too many, we don't have to use them all."

She didn't reply, picking one up curiously. "You made them look like photographs…?"

"Well…not exactly."

"Hmm…" She looked from him to the picture she held turning the image over in her hand. She let out a shocked gasp. "This is actual film!" Her surprise carried and caused a couple of the other groups nearby to look over at her and Ripp. "Ripp…"

"Yeah?"

"How in the world did you get these?"

He bit his lip, suppressing a cringe, and looked away. The movement caused his fringe of hair to sway slightly.

Leeta's eyes narrowed and she snatched up the photo of the black eye. Without giving him time to protest, she turned his head towards her and grabbed his bangs. Ripp instinctively flinched, but Leeta was gentle with him, lifting his hair away from his face without pulling or yanking. A soft gasp escaped her as she compared the photo and wound.

"Oh my god… It's you…"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Leeta pressed a finger softly to his lips.

"Shush." She selected another photo and this time compared the image to his split lip. "It really  _is_  you… Oh, Ripp…" A third picture was selected; this one showed a disgusting black bruise on the subject's lower ribcage. Leeta's eyes brimmed with tears at the sight. "Ripp…" She shook her head slightly, pleadingly as though asking him to prove that this image wasn't also of him.

Ripp sighed and lifted the side of his shirt. The bruise had only grown since the previous night and it drew a sympathetic whimper from Leeta. She reached out, the paused, mere millimetres from his skin.

"May I?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Just be careful. I might've busted something."

Her fingers were cool and light, brushing ever so carefully against his tender skin. When he didn't protest, she placed a delicate palm against the bruise. Despite the sting it sent through the wound, Ripp couldn't help but think that it felt extremely nice. At least, it did until she accidentally pressed too hard on his bottom rib. He let out a gasp of pain and felt her hand immediately withdraw, but the damage had been done.

"Sweet mother of-!" His hands slapped to his desk and he clenched his jaw as he waited for the pain to pass.

"Ripp, I'm so sorry."

"Yep…" he hissed through his teeth. "That's busted. Definitely busted." He let his breath out slowly and turned to Leeta. She was mortified.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. It's not your fault," he said, tugging his shirt back down. "I'll be fine." He didn't argue when Leeta placed her hand lightly on his shirt right over top of the broken rib.

"How did this even happen?" she whispered.

"Hit the doorframe funny."

She shook her head. "No. Don't lie to me. You didn't get this walking into a doorframe. What really happened?"

He sighed. "I hit the doorframe funny." A pause. "When that stupid bastard threw me at it."

"No…No…" She was hugging him, gently, arms holding him close. She trembled and her breath was strained as though fighting off tears. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

"Leeta, really, it's-"

She released him and straightened, brushing his hair back once more. A furtive glance around the classroom later, she'd leaned forward and pressed her lips to his swollen eye, whispering, "I'm so sorry…"

"It's alright. I–I didn't want anyone to know…" he whispered before sighing. "I don't want to find out what would happen if I told. Call me coward, but I'm scared of the cliché." His cheeks were burning from the kiss. Had anyone seen that? Part of him hoped that someone had.

"You think it'll get worse? Ripp…Oh, Ripp…" Her arms were quickly back around him, hugging him close to her. "You should've told someone.  _Should_  tell someone."

He shook his head. "No. I'm fine enough. I've managed this long." He let out a choked laugh. "I'm practically on the homestretch. I'll make it the last few years before I'm free of him."

Leeta cupped his face in her hands. "You shouldn't have to. It doesn't have to be this way."

"I'll be okay, Leeta. Really."

She sighed, slipping her hands away, fingers trailing over his cheeks. She gripped his necklace and lifted the fang, tugging it ever so slightly. "Does Torn-?"

Ripp shook his head. "Know?" he finished for her, gingerly prying her fingers from his treasured possession before his own fist closed around it. "Not a chance." With his free hand he took her gently by the wrist. "Look, Leeta… I–I don't want this to make things awkward between us. I…I don't want you to worry about me or anything like that." There was a part of him that ached for him to tell her everything, spill the whole story to her, but he just couldn't manage it.

Any attempt to form the words and his mouth went dry, his voice died in his throat. Fourteen years of lying was a tough habit to break. The thought of what his father could do silenced him and, a gut wrenching thought formed; wasn't it better for Leeta not to know? Simius had never gone after anyone but Ripp, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. Who knew what he could do – might do – to Leeta if he found out that she knew anything?

"I'm tough."

She looked up at him, eyes meeting his. There was an unasked question there.  _But is that enough?_

They stayed, gazing at each other for what felt like an eternity. Leeta broke the contact, turning to their poster. "Ripp…" her voice was soft, scarcely more than a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Promise me something."

He gulped. "What?"

"Tell someone. Please."

Ripp shook his head. "I can't. You don't understand, Leeta."

Her eyes were full of such sadness when she turned back to him that his heart lurched. "I'm trying to. Help me understand."

"I…I can't. I know you're trying, but…I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. "This is my problem. My burden to bear. I don't want to trouble you with it."

She laid her hand on his arm. "I think you do."

He couldn't help arching an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

Leeta picked up one of the Polaroid photos and tapped him on the nose with the edge of it. "These, silly."

He sighed and looked away again. "A slip up."

Her fingers were still cool as she took his hand in both of hers and rubbed his fingers slowly. "When you're ready," she said, "I want you to tell me everything. I'm here to listen. Okay?"

Ripp nodded slowly. "Okay…"

* * *

When the bell for lunch rang, Ripp didn't even bother heading to his usual spot in the cafeteria. He simply wasn't in the mood to take on new tasks and what was the point of going to sit in the cafeteria if he never ate? As far as he could tell, there wasn't one.

He dropped his bag off in the corner of the gym and stretched as he waited for Elston to finish eating his lunch. It was only a few minutes before the man came out of the Phys Ed. office to greet the teen.

"You're here kinda early," he said. His gaze drifted to the floor of the gym. "Don't want to get out the mats today?" Elston asked.

Ripp shook his head. "Don't get mats in the real world."

The coach shrugged. "If that's how you want it. I'm not taking the blame if you wind up hurt." He put a hand on Ripp's shoulder. "Remember, slap the ground to-"

"Absorb the impact." Ripp grinned. "I know."

"Good." And then Elston gave Ripp a firm shove, watching as the teen repeated the move he'd done hundreds of times before, slapping the ground as he hit.

* * *

Torn checked his schedule and the time; lunch break and then bazaar patrol, great. He made his way down to the KG cafeteria where he found Erol poring over a group of files and newspaper clippings.

"Busy time?" Torn asked, sitting down.

"Mm? No, not really." Erol didn't even bother to look up as he spoke, merely began to clear up his files, stuffing them hastily into a shoulder bag.

"What're you look-?"

Erol turned to him with a snarl. "None of your damn business, alright?"

Torn fixed Erol with a sceptical look. "Oh really? Let me guess, it's not really your business either?"

"Shut up. Just drop it!"

The taller man held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine then.  _Be_  all touchy and secretive…"

Erol glared at him. "God, just drop it."

"What is _wrong_  with you today? You're not still sore about the gun course, are you?"

"No. Stop asking so many questions. God!" Erol grabbed his back and stood up. "I don't have to put up with this…" This was followed by some indecipherable, but still clearly irritated muttering.

Torn rolled his eyes and made a grab for the bag. If Erol was going to be  _this_  touchy, then he was going to find out what had put him in such a bad mood; it'd be worth noting in case it was something he could avoid in the future. Torn had, however, forgotten to factor in how much faster Erol's already quick reflexes were when he was angry. The reminder came in the form of the redhead's left elbow slamming full force into his jaw. Torn swore.

"I said  _drop it_." Erol rolled his eyes and stalked away, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Torn shot a glare at his retreating form before using his sleeve to dab away the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He jumped as someone put their hand on his shoulder and, when he turned to see who, found himself face to face with Ashelin.

"Hey. I saw what he did." She sat down next to him. "What'd you do to tick him off?"

Torn shrugged. "He was in a bad mood before I got here. I just aggravated it."

Ashelin rolled her eyes. She placed a hand along Torn's cheek to hold him still while she pressed the napkin she'd brought to the corner of his mouth. "Well, wasn't that  _brilliant_  of you."

He couldn't help a slight smirk. "It was worth it."

"Men…" Ashelin muttered, shaking her head in false dismay. Her green gaze was drawn to a newspaper article on the table. "Is that yours?" she asked.

"Is what mine?"

Ashelin reached across the table to pick up the piece of paper and held it out to him. "This."

A cursory glance told him that it wasn't his, nor did he think he'd ever seen it before. "No. Must be Erol's…" Torn scowled and skimmed through the article. It was about an increase in gang activities. "Or not… At least, I don't think it is…"

"What's it about?"

"City gangs. Apparently they're getting more active. Starting to take out people owing gang debts… That sort of thing. Don't know why Erol would want it."

Ashelin shrugged. "Who knows? He could've been assigned as a gang unit stand-in."

Torn shook his head. "I doubt it. He's not the type they'd assign to gangs, even if he was just a temp." He looked at Ashelin and smiled. "Right, well, I'm back on duty soon; I'm going to grab something to eat."

* * *

Ripp stared at the returned math test. He'd failed. Across the top, above his name scrawled in hasty precursor, were the words 'See me after class.' He felt an inexplicable fear grip him and he had to fight to keep from shaking. No teacher had ever asked to talk to him after class before, but then again, he'd never failed a test before either.

Leeta leaned over from her desk to look at his score. "Ripp, how'd you do?" she asked.

He barely managed to hide the mark under his hand before she caught a glimpse. "Not good. You?"

She shrugged. "Not too bad, seventy-three. I'm really not too fond of math."

Ripp smiled, leave it to Leeta to call seventy-three 'not too bad.' "Me neither. Seventy-three's good though. Better than me." He kept his hand firmly over the paper, just in case she tried to look. She didn't.

"That bad, huh?" She laughed. "I thought you were good at tests."

He looked at the paper that his hand was firmly pressed flat against. "So did I. Guess not this time."

Moments later, Leeta's hand was on his, her slim fingers trailing over the back of his hand. He couldn't help thinking that she seemed awfully contact oriented that day. "It's okay, Ripp. Everyone has an off-day now and again."

Ripp's icy eyes met with her blue-grey ones and he shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. It's just…" he broke off shaking his head. "Never mind."

"No…go on," she encouraged, rubbing the back of his hand as though doing so would coax the words from him.

"It's just…Dad gets on my case about how he thinks I should be able to get higher marks than I do. I guess I'm just starting to feel the pressure of it now."

She didn't stop rubbing his hand. "It's okay. One test isn't going to ruin your whole mark. Right?"

Ripp was forced to look away, unable to stand looking at that open, honest face of hers. She couldn't understand. "Yeah, I guess."

Leeta smiled and brushed her bangs out of her face with her free hand and turned to glance out the window. "Look," she said, flicking her head, "It's raining."

He couldn't help but smile. "It's  _always_  raining."

* * *

Torn ducked inside the tent as lightning flashed, illuminating the sky in a blue-white light and the tell-tale thuds of an impending hailstorm began. Armour or not, he didn't want to be out in that. He knelt right by the entrance, gripping his blaster in both hands, watching. Most of the other KG patrolling the bazaar had headed for cover at the first rumblings of thunder, making the shops a prime target for thieves.

It seemed that even thieves, however, had little interest in being out in the weather. It was almost a shame that there weren't any to be found; Torn might've considered letting them off easy just for daring to brave the hostile rain and hail. He stayed, crouched like that for a few more minutes before deciding that there really wasn't anyone out in the weather, it looked like everyone was planning on waiting out the storm.

He turned and, for the first time, took note of the interior of his chosen temporary shelter.

Inside the tent there sat a hunched, pale old crone of a woman. Her milky gaze turned to him and Torn felt an unpleasant shiver run down his spine. She seemed to smile as she… saw wasn't quite the right word… but as she seemed to sense his presence and attention.  _What_  were the odds that he'd just happened to duck into the tent of the bazaar's fortune teller?

Her right hand waved as though she was greeting him.

There was a squawk and Torn jumped, falling off balance as he levelled his weapon at the source of the sound. One of the strangest creatures that he'd ever seen flapped into sight, coming towards him. It was like some kind of strange…parrot-monkey hybrid.

"The great Onin welcomes you and extends the customary salutations to you, Commander," the creature said, flourishing a feathered appendage as it landed. "Though I don't know why, because you clearly need to work on your manners."

The young man blinked, lowering his gun and sitting up properly once more. "I'm not the commander…"

"Hmm…" the parrot-monkey thing appeared to consider this. Behind it, the woman was gesturing, sparkling blue lights trailing from her fingertips. "Well… Onin says that's the trouble with titles. They never seem to stick around for long."

Torn tried not to look too interested. "Am I  _supposed_  to be Commander?"

This question resulted in more gesturing from the old woman. More blue sparks followed her movements, leaving strange shimmering trails.

"Onin says that the future is not certain."

A slight smirk came to Torn's face. "That's kinda cryptically cliché, don't you think?"

The creature appeared irritated by this. "What do you expect?" it demanded. "Clear cut answers?" Onin waved her hand crossly and the animal rolled its eyes. "Onin says there are currently too many factors to account for in order for her to have any certainty to your future."

Torn sighed. "Great…" Not that he put any belief in fortune telling, even if this woman did seem to have the whole mysterious mystic act down to an art. Everything was just too farfetched.

"You don't believe in Onin's power?"

"No. Not particularly."

"Hmm…" The parrot-monkey considered this. Onin waved her hands again. Sparks danced in the air before her. "You will."

Torn snorted. "I doubt it."

The animal gave him a smug look. "We shall see."

* * *

When the bell rang, Ripp approached his math teacher's desk with growing apprehension. This feeling didn't leave when he was fixed with a very pointed look.

"Yes, Ripp?"

The teen shuffled uncomfortably. "Um… You said I had to see you after class. About my test."

The man nodded and gestured to a chair next to Ripp. "Take a seat."

Ripp sat down warily, wondering how long he was going to be there. If he was late getting home… He shuddered involuntarily, trying hard not to think about the unpleasant consequences.

"Relax, you're not in trouble."

Ripp was inclined to agree. This didn't feel like he was in trouble, though it did seem to share some of the characteristics – like the fact that his hands shook unless he kept them in his lap, or pockets. "Um…sir?" he asked.

"Yes, Ripp?"

"Is…is this going to take very long? My dad doesn't like it when I get home late."

The teacher cocked his head, thinking. "I'm not sure. If you want we could do this tomorrow at lunchtime."

And miss one of his self-defense lessons with Elston? Not a chance. Ripp didn't even have to consider it. "No," he said, "This is fine." He hoped it would be.

"Alright, well, I'll be quick then. Now, I know you know the concepts really well; you did exceptional on the worksheets, so I'm at a bit of a loss as to what happened. Just test anxiety?"

Ripp nodded. "Pretty much."

"You're a very good student, Ripp. And I'm willing to give you a chance to fix this." He paused and then continued, "If you would like, I'm prepared to let you do a re-write."

"Could I?"

The man nodded. "We could aim for after school tomorrow, or at lunch, whenever works for you."

Ripp bit his lower lip, hesitating. Neither of those times really worked for him. "Could I…Could I write it tomorrow morning? Before school?" he asked hopefully.

His teacher blinked. "I don't know many kids who'd want to come in early to write a test, but yes, I suppose you can."

"Thank you, sir." Ripp made to stand up, but he was stopped by the teacher.

"One more thing."

He settled back in his seat. His eyes flickered to the classroom's clock, watching the second hand tick away precious seconds of his life.

"Is everything alright at home?"

It was instinct that made Ripp stiffen. His reply was clipped. "Yeah. Fine." Nervous fingers found their way to his necklace and began to play with the fang there.

"Are you sure? I want you to know, you can come talk to me anytime you need to. I've spoken to your other teachers, they feel the same way. We're a bit worried about you."

Ripp's blood ran cold. They knew. They could tell. Anger flashed through his mind. What right did this man have to pry into his life? "I already told you, it's fine!" he snapped. Why was everyone suddenly so interested in his home life? Why was everyone insisting that he talk to someone? He was  _fine_. No one had cared before now, so what had made them start?

Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"There's no need to get angry," the teacher said calmly, "I was only asking."

"May I go?"

The teacher nodded and Ripp stood. He grabbed his book back left the classroom, heading for his locker. He popped the lock open and dropped his bag off before heading outside.

* * *

Through the windows it was clear that the rain had become a torrential downpour as the afternoon wore on; there was evidence of hailstones on the ground. Ripp hesitated before pushing open the doors and stepped outside. Everywhere students cluster around anyone with an umbrella; some ran across the concrete with arms over their heads, doing the best to shield themselves from the wet. Ripp mentally kicked himself for not wearing a warmer shirt. He spotted Leeta waiting for her ride home, smartly waiting beneath the overhang of the school's entranceway.

"Ripp!" she cried, spying him, "Where's your jacket?"

He gave her a very fake smirk. "What for? The weather's beautiful!"

She punched him lightly in arm. "You idiot," she said, grinning.

"I left it at home." He squinted at the vehicles out in front of the school and pointed to one. "Isn't that your mom out there?"

Leeta gasped. "Yeah, thanks!" She raised her arms above her head and prepared to run out to her mom. She'd made it about ten feet from the overhang before turning around. She was already drenched. "Ripp, do you want a ride?" she asked, shouting to be heard over the rain pouring on the roof.

He shook his head. "No, thanks."

"You sure?"

Ripp nodded. "Yeah. Go home, Leeta! I'm alright!"

"Okay. Bye! See you tomorrow!" She took off again, waving briefly at him over one shoulder.

He waved back then looked up, sighing. Leeta had already been to his house once; it wasn't like she'd be shocked by where he lived. He should've taken the offered ride. For a moment he almost wished he had homework that night, simply for the fact that he could use it as a shield. Almost. He stepped out from under the overhang and was immediately assaulted by frigid water. He shivered and shook his head, trying to keep his hair from sticking too much too his forehead. All he succeeded in doing was getting his wet locks to plaster themselves over his bruised eye.

"Oy! Slummer!"

There wasn't time to react as someone came at him from his right – his currently blind side – and gave him a hard shove. The pain of taking a blow so close to his broken rib broke any concentration he had and Ripp fell hard. Mud splattered up the left side of his jeans, arm and face. Ripp pushed himself up, glaring daggers at Viran.

"Thought you might feel a bit more at home there in the mud. Where scum like you belong," Viran sneered. He kicked Ripp's supporting arm out from under him, sending him back down for another partial dunking.

Ripp staggered to his feet, feeling the mud suck at his leg as he did. He shook the mud from his hand, sending it splattering across Viran's face. "Piss off, Viran."

"Aww, did you get upset? Is poor little slummer gonna go home and cry to Mommy about how nobody understands him?" Viran's tone was mocking, taking on a babyish quality.

"Oh, go make out with Garret and stop hiding your true feelings for him," Ripp snarled.

Viran seized Ripp by the collar of his shirt. "Listen carefully slummer, cause I'm only going to tell you once-"

"Stay away from Leeta?" Ripp suggested. "That makes about five times that you've given me that 'one time' warning."

"Why you little-!"

"Go to hell, Viran."

" _Leeta is mine_ ," Viran hissed. "You best stay away from her."

Ripp shoved away, leaving a muddy handprint on Viran's shirt. He glared. "In case you missed it, Leeta is a person. Not some toy you can lay claim to. You'll never deserve her."

"Don't lecture me. You're not my equal. You're lower than the mud you're wearing."

Ripp's eyebrow twitched. "Are you  _trying_  to piss me off?" he hissed, voice low and dangerous. "You're a bigger moron than I thought."

"You filth."

Ripp pushed Viran out of the way. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh! Running away, are you? You little coward," Viran jeered, leering a Ripp.

The next thing either boy knew, Viran was missing two teeth and Ripp was running home as fast as his legs could carry him. He vaulted the low fence surrounding the school property and kept going. He could hear Viran's enraged shouts behind him, but they were getting further and further away.

The rain lashed his bare arms and beat against him relentlessly. He splashed through puddles, completely uncaring; there was more spurring him home than simply ticking off Viran. He'd wasted enough time at school and had to get home before his dad did.

He didn't stop running, skidding around the last turn. When he arrived at the door to his house he was soaked to the bone, freezing, and out of breath. He placed his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it. It wouldn't budge. He gripped it tighter and tried again. Still nothing.

Ripp shook his head, eyes wide. "Oh,  _hell no_. Please, no…" He slammed all his weight against the door. It was definitely locked. "No." It came out as despairing sob. "Dammit."

He sank to the doorstep, knees drawn tight to his chest. Of all the days for Simius to beat him home… Ripp shivered and hugged his legs closer. This wasn't fair. Whoever was controlling the world, Mar, the Precursors or some other entity had to have it out for him. It wasn't fair. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks as he sat there, waiting and cursing his very existence.

It was an hour and a half later that he heard the click of the deadbolt and the door creaked open. His skin had taken on a blue tinge and when he looked up, his eyes met with his father's steely ones. The expression on Simius' face made the weather suddenly seem as welcoming as a hot and sunny day.

"Get in the house, brat," he snarled, grabbing Ripp tightly by the arm and hauling him to his feet.

Ripp's movements were slow, inactivity and cold had made his muscles and joints stiff.

"Now!" Simius bellowed, slapping Ripp and shoving him inside. "Let that be a lesson to you to  _get home on time_."

"Sorry."

"Damn right you're sorry." Another slap. "Go get changed, I don't want you getting anything else wet. And so help you God if you get mud on the carpet, I'll make you clean the entire house."

Ripp nodded absently, struggling not to whimper as the joys of central heating began to defrost his frozen body.

"Are you paying attention to me?"

"What?" It was a kneejerk reply and probably the worst one that Ripp could've picked. In a flash, Simius had slammed him into the wall and keeping him pinned there by the throat. He pressed down hard on his son's neck, cutting off Ripp's airway.

Ripp's hand trailed over his father's, trying to dig beneath the man's fingers and loosen his grip. His attempt to pry the choking hand away did little more than cause Simius to press down harder. He tried to draw in air, gasping like a fish out of water. He coughed once. "D-dad..." he managed to wheeze.

"You will pay attention when I speak to you. Do you understand me?"

Ripp nodded.

"I said:  _do you understand me_?"

Again, Ripp nodded, but now he knew that it wasn't enough. His father wanted a verbal response. "Yes…" his voice was strangled and hoarse, but it seemed to satisfy his father.

"Good." Simius flung Ripp to the floor. "Now go get changed like I told you to."


	14. Touching Base

Torn's reading of the report was interrupted by someone pounding on his door. He looked up in confusion; it wasn't like one of his typical visitors to knock like that. Scowling, he set the report aside and got up to answer. The moment he'd pulled the door open, he found himself caught in a tight embrace from a very cold, very wet, and very familiar teenager.

"Ripp! What are you doing here?"

The teen shivered against his brother, panting slightly as he spoke, "I had to come see you."

"You're  _drenched_!"

"Yeah," Ripp said, waving a hand as though he were trying to dismiss this as some minor detail. "I walked, don't worry about it."

Torn stared at him. "You  _walked_? Ripp, that's almost two hours!"

"Hour fifteen if you run half of it."

Torn blinked and ruffled his brother's sopping hair. "You're mental. C'mon let's get you dried off."

Ripp nodded and followed his brother, rubbing his bare arms in the hopes that he could work some warmth into them; he was honestly surprised that he hadn't managed to contract hypothermia with how much time he'd been spending out in the cold rain recently. Torn glanced back at him and did a double take, properly registering the sight of his brother for the first time.

"What the hell are you wearing  _that_  for?" Torn asked, nodding to the KG uniform that Ripp was sporting.

"Wha-? Oh! It's the only thing that fits right now. Everything I've got is too small or wet or caked in mud. So I raided your closet again. It was all I could find."

"You didn't wear that to… _school_  did you?" he asked, opening the linen closet to get out a towel for Ripp.

"Yeah, I did. Got me a bit of trouble from the other kids, but I'm fine." This was mostly true. Save a kid or two at in Ripp's class, majority of the abuse he'd received for his attire had been verbal. None of the blows had amounted to much anyway, nothing like he was used to dealing with.

Torn stared at his brother; it seemed the concept was just a bit  _too_  far out of his comprehension at that moment. "You really  _are_  mental." He gave his head a hopeless shake. "You need to get some new clothes, Ripp."

"I know, I know. I plan to get on that once Mom's out of the hospital."

"You are  _such_  an idiot," Torn said rolling his eyes as threw the towel at Ripp.

The teen caught it and immediately started to scrub his hair dry. "Resourcefulness is not equal to idiocy."

Torn crossed his arms over his chest. "In this case? Where you wore an academy uniform to a lower class public school? It sure is."

"Fine line, fine line." Ripp grinned as he slung the towel around his neck, hair sticking up in all directions but considerably less wet. Torn's eyes narrowed and he grabbed Ripp by the jaw, dragging him forward. "Uh… Torn?"

"What in the world did you do to your eye?"

Ripp wanted to tell him the truth, desperately wanted to tell him the truth. Tell him that it had been Simius, but his mouth refused to form the correct words, the attempt to utter the truth died on the tip of his tongue, his voice simply failed. "I told you, I had a bit of trouble from the other kids." The lie slipped out easily.

Torn didn't look entirely convinced. "That's a few days old. You've been wearing my uniform for more than one day?"

"Well… no…" Ripp admitted. He hadn't expected Torn to catch that.

"So what really happened?"

The chance was right there, but Ripp couldn't make himself take it. He sighed, swallowed once and said, "Well… There's this girl I like…"

Half of Torn's tattooed brow shot up. Ripp chose to ignore this fact.

"And there's this other kid who thinks he's better than me, so he keeps trying to tell me to stay away from her. And-"

"Let me guess, you don't take that too well?" Torn asked. He seemed amused.

Ripp couldn't quite keep from grinning a little. "We butt heads a lot." The teen shrugged. "It was a lucky punch." Again, the lie came easily. It was always easy when there was a hint of truth embedded within it. This time Torn didn't appear to question the story for a moment. "He's just jealous that she talks to me." Ripp's faded as he looked around the inside of Torn's quarters. He'd never been in them before, but that wasn't what was on his mind. "Do you always keep it so  _cold_  in here?"

"It's not cold. You're just  _soaked_." Torn smiled slightly and ruffled Ripp's hair. "Hang on for a sec; I'll grab you something warmer."

Ripp nodded his thanks as Torn disappeared into his bedroom. The teen glanced around with mild interest before stripping off his wet shirt. When Torn returned, he stopped at stared at Ripp for a moment.

"Look at you! What the hell have you been  _doing_?" he demanded.

For a moment, Ripp didn't know what his brother was referring to, and then he looked down and realized what he meant. His chest was mottled with bruises, old and new. "Oh," he said, "Nothing much."

"You're insane.  _Never_  wear my uniform to school again. You'll get killed."

Ripp flicked his hand in a noncommittal gesture. "I doubt that. I can handle myself decently enough."

Torn shook his head and handed Ripp a change of clothes. "Here. Go get changed. We'll talk in the living room."

* * *

Ripp sat on the couch next to Torn, he was leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, but it wasn't enough to hide his shaking hands and his shoulders still vibrated with cold. Torn put a hand on his shoulder and Ripp sighed at the heat it sent through the contact site.

"You okay?"

The teen nodded shakily. "Fine. Totally fine." It had been at least twenty minutes since he'd changed clothes and his shivers still refused to subside.

"You sure?"

Again, Ripp nodded. "I'm fine."

"If you say so." Torn sat up straighter and sighed, running a hand back over his dreadlocks. "You know," he began, "It really is too bad that Mom got sick…"

Ripp shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

"Yeah, but this time it's really inconvenient. I don't know when I'm going to be able to see you guys again."

Ripp shrugged again. "You always make time." Eventually. He'd given up on counting all of the times that Torn had missed a visit over the years; it was too depressing to keep track.

"I try, but…" Torn trailed off and looked at his still shivering brother, "Things aren't looking good."

The teenager sat up straighter and fixed Torn with a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…" He sighed. "If the rumours hold true then… I'm getting shipped out soon. Damas is considering an all-out war with the metalheads."

Ripp stared at him. " _What_?"

Torn nodded grimly. "I was hoping I could tell you and Mom and Dad this weekend, but… It looks like you'll have to tell them for me."

This produced wild head shaking from Ripp. "No! No way! I can't do that!"

Torn took Ripp's hands in his. "Hey, it's not like we're heading out tomorrow, just relax. Okay?" There was a moment of silence, and then Torn looked down at Ripp's hands. "You're  _sure_ you're okay? You're hot, kiddo."

Ripp blinked and pulled a hand out of Torn's grasp. "Am I?" he asked, touching his forehead gingerly.

Torn nodded and pressed the back of his hand to Ripp's forehead. "Definitely. You're burning up."

"Maybe I'm feeling a  _little_  off…" he admitted slowly.

The man pulled his brother close and sighed, hugging the teen tightly to him. Ripp leaned into the hug, resting his head on Torn's chest. Now that he'd dared to admit that he wasn't feeling quite right, it was considerably harder to ignore just how bad he actually was feeling. And Torn was right there, warm and safe. He curled up to his brother, loving the warm secure feeling it gave him to be there. He'd missed this, missed having Torn there when he needed him, missed  _everything_  about his brother.

Torn ran his fingers slowly through Ripp's hair, brow furrowing with concern. According to their parents, it had been in Juska's teenage years when her immune system had begun to fail her. A fear settled in the pit of Torn's stomach and he pulled Ripp into his lap, hugging him tighter. What if Ripp had inherited Juska's disease? What then? With Simius working, the potential for him getting shipped off soon and Juska hospitalized, what would happen if Ripp needed someone to look after him? It seemed unlikely that anything good could come of it.

The teen shifted, pressing his face to Torn's neck with a whimper. Torn adjusted his hold on Ripp, and looked at his brother. It was so reminiscent of their younger days that he almost smiled; reminded of the little boy that Ripp had been before the long separation had begun.

Ripp shifted again, his fevered skin pressing closer against Torn as he shivered unhappily. It was at that moment that Torn decided that he had to do  _something_. He might not be able to look after Ripp for long, but…

"Hey, Ripp?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm going to keep you for a while. Okay?"

"What do you mean?" Ripp mumbled.

"I mean I'm going to call Dad and tell him you're spending the weekend here with me. Alright?"

Ripp sat up slightly, yawning. "Alright… I like the sound of that."

Torn brushed back his brother's hair. "Does he even know you're here?"

Ripp bit his lip and shook his head. "No…" Simius had, in fact, forbidden him from contacting Torn since Juska had taken ill. He wasn't exactly eager to go home to the man and what was doubtless his anger at such deliberate disobedience. "He was visiting Mom when I left."

"She doing any better?"

Another shake of Ripp's head. "No. Not yet…" He looked at Torn and there was something pleading in his light gaze. "She  _is_  going to get better, right?"

Torn sighed. "I dunno, Ripp. I really don't. Bur for the moment, let's just worry about you."

"If you want to…" Ripp buried his face in Torn's neck again, inhaling deeply. He tried and failed to stifle another yawn; he simply couldn't help it. How long had it been since he'd been this relaxed? Too long. Maybe never.

Torn gave Ripp's hair an affectionate ruffle and let go of him. "Fine. You need to try and get some rest, okay?" He pushed Ripp gently off his lap and got up.

"Mm." Ripp nodded and curled up on the couch, using his arms as pillow. "Okay…." He yawned once more and closed his eyes. "If you say so…"

Torn smiled and got up to go call Simius. There was no answer at the house – not that he'd been expecting one – and left a message for whenever his father got home. By the time that Torn got back to living room, Ripp was already fast asleep.

* * *

The weekend passed by far too quickly for the liking of either Torn or Ripp, though it did allow them to get some much needed quality time. Ripp's illness turned out to be nothing more than a cold brought on by spending too much time out in the rain – not that the teen was willing to offer this as a solution when Torn decided to speculate on what could have made him sick.

* * *

For the most part, Monday went fairly well for Ripp, despite the fact that he lacked a large portion of his school supplies and homework when he got to school. Torn had dropped him off before heading out on patrol, but this meant that Ripp didn't have access to the school supplies he'd left at home before arriving at his brother's place.

Thanks to the clothes Torn had lent him, Ripp's interactions with other students – save Viran – had greatly improved over what they had been when he'd resorted to wearing the old KG uniform. Ripp had never expected that he'd enjoy his quiet school role so much as he did that day.

Leeta's relief at seeing him was clear and she came running over to hug him the moment he walked into their first period class.

"Ripp!" she cried, "Where were you all weekend? I tried calling your house, but I just kept getting your dad or the answering machine." She pulled a face. "Neither was particularly informative."

He laughed quietly. "I bet not." He released her from the hug, smiling at her. "I was with Torn."

Her eyes darted around the classroom once before speaking in a hushed tone. "Did you tell him?"

Ripp's smile vanished and he shook his head solemnly.

Leeta sighed. "Ripp… Why  _not_?"

He looked away. "I don't want him to worry about it. He said he's probably getting shipped out soon. I just… I can't make him worry about me." Ripp ran a hand back through his hair. "I can't distract him who knows what might happen to him if I did. He could be killed…"

Again Leeta sighed. She stroked her hand down Ripp's cheek sadly. "If you say so…"

"I do. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

* * *

Ripp made it home only a couple minutes before his father that day and he darted up to his room, taking the steps two at a time. He pulled open a drawer on his desk and removed the small box that he kept his project earnings stashed in. He'd rarely actually used any of the money, in fact the only time he'd dared to spend any of it had been when he purchased himself an elaborate first aid kit which was now kept tucked safely away under his bed.

Carefully, Ripp counted out a fair amount of cash and stuck the rest back in the box. He pocketed it and paused, looking thoughtfully at his money box. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him it wasn't safe there. It was irrational to think, no one knew he had the money, much less where it was hidden, but still… He contemplated for a moment and then separated another small amount of cash which he hid elsewhere in his room.

There. Now he had an emergency cache, just in case Simius found out about the other one.

"Ripp!"

He froze, caught midway between closing the drawer. "Yes, Dad?" he called.

"Get down here!"

A sigh escaped him. He shut the drawer and doubled checked that there was no evidence of the money hidden in his pocket before heading downstairs. "Yes, Dad?" With any luck he already knew what he was about to be told.

"Find yourself dinner. I'm going to get changed and then I'm off to go see your mother. No funny business, you. We've got a lot to  _discuss_  later."

Ripp cringed slightly. He'd be paying dearly for running off. "Okay, Dad…"

Simius glared hard at him and shoved him into the wall as he headed up the stairs. Ripp rubbed his shoulder and glared at where his father had disappeared to, muttering under his breath. He wandered into the kitchen and his gaze fell on his father's keys lying on the table. With a smirk, he picked them up and removed the house key. He glanced warily around the kitchen once and pocketed it. Perfect.

In a few steps he'd made it to the fridge and pulled it open, quickly pretending to busy himself. He grabbed the carton of milk and headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass. He didn't so much as glance at the stairs. Acting natural was going to be his best defence.

He didn't even look up as he heard his father's loud steps on the stairway. He couldn't give any hind of the borrowed house key. Besides, with Simius in the mood he was in, a look could be all it took to earn him the beating of a lifetime. Yes, it was definitely better to just steer clear, keep his head down and behave. At least until Simius was out of the house.

"Bye, brat."

"Bye, Dad. Say hi to Mom for me."

Simius grunted once at this and snatched his keys from the table. Ripp couldn't resist casting a furtive glance over his shoulder as his father headed out the door. He let out a breath that he hadn't been entirely aware of holding. Simius hadn't noticed. Ripp continued his scrounging around in the kitchen for a few minutes after he'd heard the front door slam shut.

He whipped up a quick dinner for himself and checked the clock. He had about three hours before he could expect his father home. That'd be enough time.

* * *

Torn waited, sitting patiently through the debriefing, noting the way the king paced around in front of the soldiers. Behind Damas stood Praxis, arms crossed over his chest. He glared out at all of the KG as though suspecting them of treason.

He leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers in front of him. None of this was news. Not to him anyway. He'd heard most of the briefing from Ashelin already, but now it was official. Everyone knew the metalheads were a threat.

Erol leaned over and hissed in his ear, "Are you kidding me? Metalheads? They're just mangy animals."

Torn shushed him with a light smack. Erol retaliated by punching him considerably harder in the arm.

"You're not surprised by any of this, are you? I can tell."

Torn shook his head. "Not really."

Erol arched a quizzical eyebrow. "Girlfriend getting you the inside information then?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Yet."

"Shut up, Erol."

"Is that her rule?"

Torn elbowed him in the ribs. " _You're_  supposed to be paying attention to this."

Erol rolled his eyes. "Yeah. So are you."

Another smack, slightly harder than the first one had been. "I already know all of this. You  _don't_."

"So I'll make you recap it for me."

This time it was Torn's turn to roll his eyes.

"- the assault on the nest must be planned out perfectly. If one thing goes wrong-" Damas' voice cut back into Torn's head and he sat up straighter.  _This_  he hadn't heard before. Did Ashelin even know about it? Well, she had to now, but had she known before? He'd have to make a point of asking her later.

Torn smirked slightly. Praxis looked less than pleased by the notion of it all. There was just something about watching the man squirm… So intent was he on watching Ashelin's father that he missed a little more of the briefing.

"-which is why the Royal Guard will be supplementing your ranks."

Almost every Krimzon Guard made some sound of disbelief – or disgust. Working with the Royal Guard? It was just unfathomable. It was unheard of. It meant things were a lot more dangerous than anyone had first thought.

Just how dangerous  _were_  the metalheads anyway?

* * *

Simius hadn't gotten home by the time Ripp returned, a welcome relief for the boy – he'd been cutting it terribly close. He hadn't bought much, just a few shirts and a couple new pairs of jeans, nothing flashy or noticeable – hopefully.

He disposed of any evidence – such as tags and receipts – with utmost care before changing into some of his new clothes. A slight smirk came to his lips, fourteen years old and it was his first time getting  _new_  clothes. At least as far as he could remember, his wardrobe had consisted completely of hand-me-downs.

From downstairs came the sound of the door slamming shut. Simus was home. Again.

" _Ripp_!" he bellowed, "Get down here!  _Now_!"

Ripp gulped and, with growing anxiety in his gut, headed down the stairs to his father. He was greeted with a harsh backhand across the face.

"You little thief! Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Notice what?" Ripp asked, trying to sound innocent as he rubbed the slap site unhappily.

"Don't you  _dare_  play stupid with me!" Another slap.

Ripp glared at him, jaw set. "Why?" he demanded, "Cause you'll win?" The realization that he'd spoken the thought out loud came a split second too late. He clapped a hand over his mouth almost the moment the insult passed his lips. Had he just…? It seemed he had. His fate for the rest of the night was sealed and he knew it.

The next blow sent him to the floor. "How  _dare_  you? You insolent  _brat_!" Simius' foot connected forcefully with his abdomen, driving the air from his lungs and making him gasp in pain. "You think you can get away with this?"

Apparently not. Ripp shook his head, pushing himself up, not daring to look at his father.

"Don't you lie to me, you little bastard," Simius snarled, "You've been pressing your luck a lot lately. Staring with bringing that  _girl_  here!" His foot slammed down again, this time closer to Ripp's ribcage, driving him down hard on his right side.

The teen cried out against his will, a choked wail of agony.

"You  _thief_. You little  _thief_! How dare you?" he roared. Ripp cringed and tried to cover his ears, but Simius knocked his hands away. " _Never_  take something of mine again! You hear me?"

Ripp nodded as Simius hauled him to his feet.

"Now  _where_  is it?"

He could only whimper.

Simius shook him violently by the shoulders. " _Where is it_?"

Fingers trembling, Ripp reached into his pocket and withdrew the house key. Luck, unfortunately, seemed to have decided to abandon him and one of the bills he had left over from his purchases came out with it. Simius' eyes widened and before Ripp could even think about stopping him, he'd snatched the money away. "What is  _this_?" Simius demanded, "Where did you get this?" Ripp's head was snapped to the side as he was slapped again.

"Dad, I-"

"Stole it? No doubt. How else would a snivelling whelp like you get  _this_?"

"No, Da-" Ripp's protest was cut off by yet another blow.

"You've got more, don't you?" Simius was shaking with rage. "Don't you?"

The boy shook his head wildly, wishing he could make this lie more convincing. But it was hard to seem sincere when his face stung in multiple places and the pain in his gut was finally starting to fade.

"Don't lie to me,  _boy_." The man's hand closed around the fang on Ripp's necklace and gave it a sharp tug. Ripp winced, then choked as his father twisted the chain abruptly, cutting off his air supply. "There's more. I know there's more. Isn't there?"

Rips fingers clawed at his throat, desperate to get the chain loosened. The only sound he could manage was a wheezing gasp.

"Tell me the truth!"

He resisted for a moment longer, but his resolve broke as the chain was twisted again, biting further into his neck. He nodded reluctantly.

"Where?"

All that came out was a strangled breath. It was with greater desperation that Ripp tried again to get his fingers under the dreadful choking chain. He just couldn't manage it. He could feel his flesh bulging around and over the necklace, but there was nowhere for him to pull it free.

" _Where_?"

Ripp struggled against Simus, trying to fight him off. What didn't his father get? If he couldn't breathe, he couldn't  _talk_. Simius's forearm slammed into Ripp's chest, driving precious remaining air from his lungs. The teen managed to stop struggling for breath long enough to point up the stairs, at himself, then back at the stairs.

His head collided with the floor and he sucked in air gratefully as Simius threw him down. "I should've guessed you'd be so uncreative." He kicked him once for good measure and started up the stairs.

Ripp lay there for a few moments, panting as he loosened the chain from around his throat. His fingers trailed over the skin of his neck; he half expected to find that he was bleeding where the chain had dug in. He could hear the clatter of Simius upstairs, ransacking his room. It was with a great effort that Ripp pushed himself to all fours. From there he worked up to a standing position, using the wall as a support. He had to get up to his room; there were things in hter that he couldn't have his father find.

Once he'd finally gotten up to his room, Ripp merely walked past his father and pulled open the drawer on his desk. He removed the box and turned to him, holding it out. All his effort, pointless.

"Here," he wheezed, voice barely audible.

Simius glared at him and snatched the box away, snarling, "Brat."

Ripp didn't have the energy to manage a glare; he just stood there, massaging his throat, watching nervously as his father counted through the money. He could tell by the twitch at the corner of his father's mouth that running would be a good idea. At least, it would be if he could have managed it.

"You thought you could get away with this?" Simius snarled, pocketing all of the cash.

Ripp didn't answer. He was wrenched forward as his father grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked. Hard. "How'd you do it, brat?"

Ripp refused to reply. His mouth was set in a firm line.

"Drug dealing?" Simius smirked, "Or were you compromising your integrity? I'm sure you'll do  _anything_  for the right price."

The teen glared at him. Was his father really suggesting that he'd sell his body out? Surely not even Simius would think he'd stoop that low.

"And to think I was almost feeling guilty over spending your entire college fund."

Ripp's horror broke through his determined silence. "You did  _what_?" The protest earned him another slap from his father; it had to be the hardest one yet, or maybe it just felt that way because of the persistent sting from the preceding blows.

"Like you were ever going to amount to enough to use it," the man sneered. "I put it to much better use than you ever would. Your mother appreciates it."

"You used it on  _her_?"

Another forceful slap. Ripp felt his neck crack.

"Don't you  _dare_  take that tone with  _me_! You ungrateful little  _bastard_! How can you refer to your mother that way?"

The teenager didn't even get a chance to reply as a well-placed throw from Simius caused him to suddenly become extremely well acquainted with the doorframe. He was beaten back out of his room to the top of the stairs.

Ripp lay curled up on the floor, trying desperately to protect his entire body. He peered up in terror as he felt his father's foot on his shoulder. What was he about to do?

"You know, I think I can almost see a use for you." Simius' voice was quiet, menacing. "No doubt I could find someone else for you to give your…  _services_  to."

" _Like hell_ ," Ripp snapped, tensing against what he was sure would be a crushing stomp on his ribs.

"I thought you might say that. So…" The muscles in Simius' leg tensed. "I don't think I'll waste my time. Not on you; it's not worth the effort."

Ripp felt the pressure increase on his shoulder. There was a split second of confusion; this wasn't what he'd anticipated. Did Simius intend to  _stand_  on him? Too late he realized what was happening and couldn't stop the inevitable tumble that came after the shove.

He landed at the base of the stairs with a muffled thump and didn't get up again.


	15. Razor Blades and Talk of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a suicide attempt, the details surrounding which go approximately to the end of the ninth paragraph.

Ripp's face was grim as he shook the small piece of steel out of its package, watching as it landed on the bathroom counter. He picked it up carefully and examined it. The razor blade glinted in the vanity lights as he turned it over. A small smirk came to his lips. Perfect.

His note lay on the counter – not that he expected anyone to care – just a standard sheet of paper filled with his compact writing. He glanced at it, it explained everything. All the words he'd never managed to say to anyone, all the thoughts he'd been too afraid to voice, every feeling no one knew he'd experienced… They were all there in that letter.

He pushed the already short sleeve of his shirt up as far as it would go and extended his left arm over the sink. His eyes darted to the bathroom door, just to make sure it was locked. He nodded once with satisfaction. No one was going to stop him.

Ripp's fingers shook as he pinched the razor between them and brought the blade over the blue line of his vein. He forced his hand to still.

"Keep it straight. Up the sidewalk, don't cross the street," he muttered to himself before bringing the blade down and slicing up the faint guide on his arm. He bit his lower lip slightly as he watched the skin splitting beneath the steel. His hand clenched involuntarily as crimson liquid spilled over his arm and dripped into the sink. Each drop a nail in his coffin. His eyes were devoid of emotion, as though he were caught in a trance, transfixed by the macabre beauty of the moment.

He'd nearly reached his elbow with the blade when the sharp trill of the phone shattered his concentration. Ripp jerked, dragging the razor off course. Hot, red blood splattered into the sink from the gouge in his arm as his gaze was drawn to the bathroom door. The call  _could_  be important. It could be his father calling from the hospital; if Ripp didn't answer, he'd be in serious trouble with his father.

The idea was laughable. He snorted at the thought. "I'll be dead by the time Dad gets back anyw-" That was when the full realization of  _exactly_  what he was doing hit him. The razor slipped from his bloodied fingers as Ripp stared, horrified at his slashed wrist. Blood continued to drip, warm and wet from his arm. Panic gripped him and he yanked open the medicine cupboard in a flash. Droplets of blood splattered the counter, mirror, and floor as his movements grew more frenzied. His hand closed around the old canister of green eco and hurriedly twisted the top off. He dipped his fingers into the substance and smeared it liberally across his sliced arm. Age, however, seemed to have reduced the eco's effectiveness and it served only to stem the bleeding a little. It bought him a little more time to try and change what he'd just done, a few extra minutes he might not have had.

Fear drove him, gave him speed as he grabbed a roll of gauze and struggled to bind his would using only one hand. After a few terrified false starts, he managed to wrap the bandage tightly around his forearm and successfully tied it off with the aid of his teeth.

He stared at the blood already beginning to soak through the gauze. Desperately he tried the eco again, spreading it over the growing stain on the bandage. With any luck that would help keep an infection at bay – that was, if he survived.

Ripp stood there, breathing heavily, trying to force some semblance of calmness back into his body. The blood in the sink was already beginning to crust over and dry. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was pale, and flecked with blood – though whether that was blood on the mirror or on his face he wasn't entirely sure.

"What was I thinking?" Ripp demanded of his reflection. He froze, for a moment there it had looked like Torn was staring back at him from the depths of the mirror.  _What would Torn do if he knew that you'd just tried to kill yourself?_  A voice in Ripp's head asked.  _What would anyone do?_

Ripp was suddenly seized with the overwhelming desire to see who had called, to learn who his true saviour was. He wrenched open the door, leaving the blood splattered all over the bathroom while he went to go check the phone.

He looked at the number, utterly bewildered. "Leeta?" he asked aloud, finding the sound of his own voice soothing after his panicked ordeal. "Why was she calling?" He dialled the number and waited. It was picked up halfway through the second ring.

"Ripp?" Leeta's musical voice asked through the receiver. "I just called, but you didn't answer. Where were you?"

A lump formed in Ripp's throat, he couldn't lie to her, but he couldn't bear to tell her the truth either. She couldn't know. "I was…I was just in the bathroom…" he said quietly.

"Okay, too much information," Leeta said cheerily. "You could've just said that you were busy."

A slight smile played around Ripp's lips. "Well," he said, "I  _could_  tell you exactly what I was doing."

"Er…No. Just…no. I don't want to know."

Ripp shrugged, despite the fact that she couldn't see him. Now it wasn't his fault for not telling her what he was up to. "Hey, Leeta? Before I forget… Thanks."

For a moment she was silent. "Right… You're welcome. For whatever I did, cause I honestly have no clue, but you're welcome anyway."

He almost laughed. Almost. But all that came out was a strangled sort of cough. "So… What did you want earlier?"

"What? Oh, right! What was for homework? I forgot my agenda at school. I don't know how, I mean, my whole life's in that thing! I don't just leave it lying around. But I figured you'd know."

"Yeah..." He sighed and ran his left hand back through his hair before noticing how much the red stain on the bandage had grown. He hadn't done enough… He was still losing blood at a rather alarming rate. Ripp bit his lower lip and raised his hand, hoping to reduce the blood flow and give him enough time to finish talking. But he'd have to end the conversation quickly.

"And? Ripp, homework?"

He gave his head a shake and wished he hadn't; blood loss was making the world pulse in and out of focus. "What? Oh. Yeah, right. Sorry. Just zoned for a sec. Um… Chapter sixteen questions from the social textbook, read the short story from English, and…uh…" He had to think and couldn't help looking at his arm again, sure that he still see the edges of the stain creeping further over the bandage. "For math all the questions on page two fifty-six and the first half on two fifty-seven… It sounds like a lot, but it's not. I'm already done."

"You're a sweetie. Thanks!" There was a pause and then Leeta spoke again, "Uh, Ripp? Don't take this the wrong way, but…are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, totally. Why?"

"You just… You're not sounding like yourself right now. Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

Ripp chewed his lower lip. "I'm fine. Don't worry, okay?"

"Alright, thanks for the homework. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow," he said, nodding to himself. "Good luck with the math."

Leeta laughed softly. "Thanks. You too. Bye."

"Bye."

Ripp hung up and looked at his arm. He  _had to_  do something about it, at this rate he was going to bleed out whether he liked it or not. And with  _a lot_  more time to reflect on his choice than he'd ever wanted… No, he definitely had to do something about it, before his father got home.

He ran up to his room and slammed the door shut behind him, heading straight for his bed. Thrusting his right arm beneath the bed, he withdrew the first aid kit he'd purchased with his project earnings. He stood and swept all of his homework off his desk; including everything that he'd told Leeta was due. Why he'd bothered to do it before attempting to take his life was still a mystery to him. One last attempt to pretend he was a normal kid…? It didn't matter now.

He darted unsteadily over to his bookshelf and pulled out the battered, old medical school textbook he'd found at a used bookstore. Ripp carried it to his desk and flipped it open to the page he needed. He sat down and flicked on his desk lamp, opening his first aid kit. For a few terrifying moments, he couldn't find what he needed. He breathed a sigh of relief and quickly sanitized the equipment before looking at his arm once again. Thinking back on how much trouble it had been to wrap, Ripp reluctantly began to remove the gauze.

The cut was still bleeding, though it appeared to have slowed considerably from the initial wrapping. Ripp couldn't quite help grimacing. He turned away and looked at the page in his medical book, reading through it carefully; then, he read through it again, just to be sure he understood everything. His fingers were trembling as he picked up the needle and prepared to pierce his wrist with the curved metal.

He yelped and whimpered unhappily as he fumbled his way through the first few stitches. The job was messy and painful, but by Ripp's standards it was good enough. He gave his stitched skin a thorough wipe with stinging disinfectant and rummaged around in his kit for some fresh gauze.

The rewrapping went considerably smoother than the previous time, though he still struggled with tying the knot. He cradled his injured arm close to his chest as he packed everything up and returned both book and first aid kit to their respective places in his room.

Only once he'd put everything away did Ripp sit on his bed, flopping onto his back with a sigh. His arm was throbbing by then, pulsing painfully a constant reminder of his cowardice. He stayed like that for a long while, staring up at the ceiling as he toyed idly with his necklace.

A single, broken sob escaped him and he rolled onto his side, curling up in the middle of his bed as he struggled to smother the emotion.

It took a while before he trusted himself to move from his familiar position and when he did move, it was only to lie down properly on his bed.

Face half buried in the pillow, Ripp muttered, "I hate my life."

* * *

Torn looked around the mess hall, most of the Krimzon Guards were still mulling over the news from the previous day's debriefing and through the general masses it was becoming the main topic of conversation. He couldn't remember a time when conversation amongst members of the Guard had ever been so…uniform. Giving his head a slight shake, Torn headed for a vacant table and sat at it. He'd barely begun to eat when he was joined by Erol, the redhead throwing suspicious glances over his shoulders as he approached. Apparently satisfied for the moment, the shorter man pulled off his gloves and turned his attention to his stew.

"Oh joy, standard gruel."

Torn rolled his eyes. "You expected something else?" Granted, KG food did tend to leave something to be desired.

"Not really, but a guy can hope." Erol shrugged and looked at Torn. "So not to be a conversational conformist, but… Royal Guard, huh?"

"Oh god, not you too…"

"I gave you enough warning."

Torn sighed, shaking his head. "Since when does 'not to be a conversational conformist' count as a  _warning_?"

Erol arched an eyebrow. "Well,  _someone's_  being touchy. Your girlfriend going on the raid?"

"For the  _last time_  she is  _not_  my girlfriend. And  _I'm_  going."

The other man's head cocked ever so slightly to the left. "So what're you worrying about?" he asked. His customary smirk formed and he leaned across the table conspiratorially. "Did you knock her up? Scared you're gonna die in the assault and leave her with the kid?"

Torn slapped him.

The redhead rubbed his temple where Torn's hand had made contact. "Okay then…" He glowered at the other man. "I actually have no clue if that was a yes or a no…"

" _No_."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Erol's smirk returned, more prominent than last time and he leaned back in his seat. "So  _that's_  why she's not your girlfriend."

The comment earned him another smack. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Seriously…"

"Spoilsport." Erol sighed. "In all seriousness though, what's Damas thinking making us ally with the Royal Guard like this? It's unheard of."

Torn looked around at all of the other Krimzon Guards in the mess hall before answering. "Honestly, I don't think this is Damas' doing."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "Nah, it doesn't sound like his kind of plan."

"Alright then. Who?"

Another wary glance around the mess hall and Torn leaned forward, dry voice pitched low as he spoke. "My money's on Praxis."

"Get that from your girlfriend?"

Torn glared at Erol. Hard.

The redhead put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll stop. Good god." He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed upon Torn's. "All joking aside, did you get that from Ashelin?"

"Nope." Torn sat back. "Figured that out on my own. I'm not sure I trust Praxis, he seems power hungry to me."

Erol nodded. "I got that impression too. That man…" He shuddered. "He just doesn't seem like the type who likes having someone above him." Torn nodded slowly at this assessment. Erol ran a finger along his bottom lip thoughtfully before he continued, "Guy like him can only be repressed for so long, you know? Bound to snap at some point, and – mark my words – it'll be messy for everyone involved."

Again, Torn nodded. He could think of someone else who didn't take well to being oppressed, a certain redhead whose grip on the concept of submission to authority was tenuous at best and who had made clear his ambitions to reach the highest level possible.

Erol merely shrugged and went back to his dinner.

* * *

Ripp headed into his English class early the next morning, looking pale and drawn. He'd been doing his best to ignore the stares he'd earned in the hallway due to his t-shirt's inability to cover his bandaged wrist. The movements associated with school had caused some of the skin around his stitches to tear slightly and a thin line of red was slowly forming on the gauze. Not to mention that his arm  _hurt_  so badly from the previous night that attempting to carry anything in his left hand was near impossible.

He reached his desk and flopped down gratefully in his seat, resting his head on his binder. His eyes closed as he tried to force himself to relax. His entire body ached. The injuries he'd received from Simius were all too clear to him at that moment and coupled with his throbbing arm… It was almost unbearable. And he was so tired… the previous two nights had yielded little to no rest for him pain and discomfort keeping him at least semi-awake through the whole night. First it had been from the brutal beating he'd taken at Simius' hands coupled with spending the night at the bottom of the stairs, too weak to get up, and the second from his failed suicide. Sleep, it seemed, was just one more thing that he would never managed to get enough of.

He'd barely made it to school the previous day, sheer force of will the only thing that got him through the day. Or at least it was until he'd bought the razor blade. His nerves were still frayed from the stress of sneaking that last bit of money out of the house right under his father's nose.

A metal ruler across the knuckles of his left hand woke him abruptly – he hadn't even been aware of dozing off. He was almost to his feet before he understood what exactly had just transpired. He sat back down, glaring at the one who had dared disturb him.

"Wakey, wakey, slummer," Viran sneered, brandishing the ruler. "Can't have you snoozing while everyone else has to work their ass off, can we?"

Ripp leaned back in his seat, causally flipping Viran his middle finger. "Piss off, fathead."

Viran clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Tsk, tsk. Language…" He smacked the ruler over Ripp's hand again.

"Get bent."

For a third time, the ruler slapped down. "What's with the wrist wrap? Wanted a little more attention from Mommy and Daddy?" Viran asked, gleefully. Ripp glared at him. "But you're still here. What happened?" His tone took on his typical mocking, childish tone that he favoured when attempting to harass Ripp, "Did somebody get scared?"

The younger boy kicked him hard under the desk.

Viran yelped.

Ripp continued to glare at him. "Alright, you've had your fun. Now get lost."

The older teen rubbed his shin irritably. "You're gonna pay for that, slummer."

This comment merely provoked an exaggerated eye roll from Ripp. "Yeah, I'm sure.  _Go away_."

Viran glared at him for another moment before stalking off to find his seat. Ripp slumped forward and rested his head on his binder once more, closing his eyes again. Maybe he could grab another few minutes of sleep before class began… He'd almost dozed off again when a pair of cool fingers trailed along the back of his right hand and, with moderate reluctance, he opened an eye blearily.

Leeta's smile was small and concerned. Her hand closed around his and gave it a slight squeeze. "Hi, Ripp."

He sat up, rubbing his eye with the back of his left hand. "Hi."

Her thumb rubbed across the back of his hand gently, those blue-grey eyes of hers never leaving his. "You okay?"

Ripp waved his left hand in dismissal. "Fine. You?"

She opened her mouth to answer and shut it abruptly upon noticing the bandage. "Ripp! Your arm! What happened?" Leeta asked, releasing his hand to take a hold of his bandaged wrist.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," he said, tugging his arm from her grasp. "I'm fine."

"Was it him?" she asked, terror lining her voice. One of her hands came to rest on his arm, trailing slowly over the gauze there. "Ripp, please, tell me."

He sighed and looked away. "No. It wasn't him."

Her free hand found his cheek and turned him back to face her. "Then what?"

Ripp bit his lip and shook his head. "No. It's nothing."

Leeta's hands were soothing as she started to untie his clumsy knot. He tensed and tried to pull his arm away, but she refused him the privilege. " _No_ ," she said, voice firm. "I won't hurt you. Just let me look." He looked away as she unwound the gauze, covering his eyes with his free hand. He couldn't bear to see the look on her face when she realized what he'd done. A shuddering gasp signalled her discovery and he cringed.

"Ripp… You didn't!"

He said nothing.

" _Ripp_ …" There were tears in her voice; he flinched.

"Yeah?"

" _Never_  do this again." Her voice was choked and Ripp couldn't help turning to look at her. His heart lurched uncomfortably. Tears were shining in her eyes and he had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat as she ran a single finger down the crude stitches. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Call me next time. Anytime it's ever this bad again, alright?"

"Leeta, I… What if it's like…two in the-?"

"Morning?" she finished for him. "I don't care. If it  _ever_  gets this bad again, I want you to call me. I always have my cell phone. Always. I sleep with it under my pillow. Promise me you'll call first."

"I…"

She gave his hand a squeeze. " _Promise me, Ripp._ "

He stared pointedly at his desk. Leeta's fingers against his cheek surprised him. "Ripp, promise me. Please." She was pleading, pleading for  _him_.

Ripp chewed his lower lip for a few moments before daring to look at her. "Alright. Leeta, I promise. I'll call you before I try something like this again."

"Good." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Anytime. I swear."

He nodded slowly. "Okay." He reached out to take the gauze back from her, but Leeta pulled it out of reach.

"Let me."

Ripp didn't bother arguing. He looked away as she began to rewrap his wrist. She was much gentler with him than he was himself, taking care to try not to hurt him any more than she had to as she redid the dressing. It was the sound of her sniffing that made him turn to her again. Her tears were falling now. His mouth went dry; he'd made her upset.

"Leeta, don't cry. Please?"

She remained silent as she tied off the knot before looking at him. "You won't." It wasn't a question, it wasn't meant to be. "So someone has to."

With obvious hesitation, Ripp reached out to wipe away one of her tears. To his dismay, another replaced it. "Leeta…"

She shook her head, and took his hands in hers. "I'm going to get you through this. No matter what it takes. I'll always be here for you. I promise."

Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back. His fingers tightened around Leeta's, squeezing, trying to communicate through that one action how much her words meant to him, trying to let her know things he refused to admit to himself.

She squeezed back. "You're not alone anymore. I'm right here. I promise."

* * *

The second debriefing session didn't last as long as the previous one and led to far more complaints among both sects of soldiers. The initial date for the assault on the metalhead nest was finalized and the training regimes of the Krimzon and Royal guards were merged in order to give everyone a chance to become moderately acquainted with each other before the day of the attack.

Torn was – as he'd already known – a member of the first strike team. Erol, much to his displeasure, was not.

"This is  _insane_. Am I not qualified for this mission or something?" Erol raved as he and Torn walked down the hallway.

The taller man had little to offer in the way of explanation. "Maybe you're overqualified."

"Oh  _c'mon_. You can't be over qualified to shoot metalheads. You heard what they said back there. Even  _Praxis_  will be heading out."

Torn snorted. "In the second wave." He gave Erol a light punch in the shoulder. "Look at it this way; they're just keeping you in reserve in case I go down."

A smirk lit the redhead's face. "If you go down, I'm stealing Ashelin." He let out a small yelp as Torn elbowed him in the ribs.

"Like hell you are. She doesn't like you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"I will."

They fell silent for a few moments and then Torn sighed. Erol looked at him, grinning.

" _C'mon, Torn_ , it's shooting  _metalheads_. You were a pro at this when we were fourteen. Granted, it did take me nearly getting eaten for you to work up the guts to pull the goddamn trigger, but still-!" He grinned manically. "This is your time to shine. You can be a war hero." Erol punched Torn in the arm, harder than the taller man thought was necessary. "Just make sure you leave  _me_  some, alright?"

Torn gave him a wry grin. "I can't promise that."


	16. Taking Off

Torn gripped his rifle tightly in his hands, leaning back as the airship lurched. He closed his eyes and adjusted his grip on the weapon. This was it.

A second jolt rumbled through the transport and he looked up, turning pensively to examine the other faces in the airship. There were familiar faces there. He'd gone to school with some of these men, grown up around them. And then there were others; they looked young. Too young. It had to be a mistake; they'd be nothing but cannon fodder. Well… Maybe not _cannon_  fodder, per se, but if the metalheads were going to be as bad as everyone said…

How many of these men had even seen a metalhead? He doubted that the number was particularly large. Perhaps a few of the more seasoned Krimzon Guards had experience, unlikely that any of the Royal Guard could be counted though. Torn would've put money on the Royal Guards barely knowing what the outside of the city looked like.

The vehicle lurched again and began to descend. The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom.

"Sorry boys," he said, "This is as far as we can go. We walk from here."

The two youngest occupants of the airship looked at each other in shock, mouthing the word 'walk' as though it was a completely foreign idea to them. Torn couldn't help the knot that formed in his stomach at the sight of them. It was as though the pair of them had been taken straight from the academy to this mission, without a single debriefing session. They were green. Far, far too green.

* * *

Ripp pushed open the front door and walked in, kicking off his shoes. Moments later he was pleasantly surprised by his mother's voice from the top of the stairs.

"Hi, honey."

"Mom…" Ripp's backpack dropped to the floor and he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time to reach her.

She smiled and pulled him close, hugging him tightly to her. "How's my boy?"

He buried his face against her neck, murmuring, "I'm good." A lie, but a necessary one. Not like it would have mattered if he'd said anything else. She'd never do anything about it. She didn't care anyway. He straightened and looked at her. "The important thing is how  _you're_  doing?" Her hug, though tight, felt frail, weak, like she shouldn't be home yet.

Juska smiled and kissed his forehead. "Much better." She sighed and pinched his cheek. "I swear you're looking more like your father every day."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Ripp supposed it was. He would've preferred if she'd compared his appearance to Torn, but… His brother did bear a certain resemblance to Simius as well. In a roundabout way, Ripp supposed it  _could_  have been a compliment… He forced a grin.

"How would you know that?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light-hearted and teasing. "You've been away for the last few weeks."

She flicked him in the ear and he couldn't help smiling at her. "Silly," she said, "A mother knows."

He chose not to dispute this, or add some form of jab at how she might know things, but never seemed to  _care_. "I have some homework I should probably get started on…"

Juska nodded once and let him go. "Of course. Your studies are important."

As he went to retrieve his backpack from the bottom of the stairs, Ripp couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, having his mother home might tame his father a bit; she was far from the deterrent that Torn was, but… It might be enough to calm him slightly. At any rate, it would be nice to have Juska home once more.

* * *

Torn hefted his gun in both hands as he pressed further back into the rocky crevice. He shot a glance at the rest of his landing party. So far, everyone had done well, even the two rookies. There was still an unmistakeable pang in his gut every time he looked at the youngest members of the group. Honestly, who had thought it was a good idea to bring them along?

He shifted uncomfortably. Being this close to the nest was already making him uneasy and they hadn't even come across any metalheads yet. Everyone was on edge. He fixed his eyes on his commanding officer – Captain Ryse, waiting for his next order. There was only so long anyone could hold their position before getting antsy.

The two rookies in particular seemed to be having a hard time holding still and one caused a small landslide of gravel to come tumbling down from their hiding place.

"Oops. Sorry."

Ryse whipped around, letting off a tiny rock slide of his own. "Silence!" he hissed at them, "You'll give away our position!"

"Our position to what? We ain't seen no stinkin' metalheads yet," the other boy snapped. "What're we hidin' for? Ain't nothin' out there but rocks and  _dirt_." He crouched down near the edge of the ledge that the raiding party had climbed onto. "Watch." With that he hopped from the ledge and landed on the ground. He grinned up at the rest of the landing party, green eyes shining with mischief.

His companion – the other young recruit – sucked in his breath and looked at the rest of the raid party. There was obvious indecision there. Torn caught his eye and shook his head slightly, as though to say 'If you join him, you're both screwed.'

"C'mon! What're you all scared of? Nothin'!" the boy on the ground jeered. He locked his gaze on his companion. "Dacey, c'mere, show them cowards there's nothin' to be scared of!"

"Allin…" the other boy sounded like he was pleading with his friend to get back up on the ledge with them. "Please don't drag me into this…"

"Get back up here, you brat!" the captain snarled, "Before something eats you. Not that you wouldn't deserve it." Siding with his captain, Dacey nodded vigorously, waving for Allin to get back up the ledge.

With a deep sigh of disappointment, the rebellious youth began to climb back up to the rest of the team. "You know, I didn't even want to be in the military anyway…"

Ryse shook his head in disgust and then raised a hand, beckoning for his troop to follow his lead. "Keep close and  _stay quiet_."

Torn chanced a quick look back at the boys and then slipped up behind his leader, whispering, "Sir, who thought it was a good idea to bring the fresh ones?"

The older man shrugged. "I heard it was Praxis' doing, actually. He thought the new recruits should see some action as early on as possible." Ryse shrugged again. "Good idea in theory, not so much in practice.

Torn gave his head a disbelieving shake. Praxis again. That man certainly stuck his nose all sorts of places where it didn't belong. Was Damas even aware of what his head Royal Guard was up to anymore? His gut was telling him that there was foul play involved somewhere.

* * *

Ripp leaned against the outer wall of his school, fiddling idly with his fang necklace as he waited for Leeta. Rain poured off the overhang covering the entrance to the school but he was – for the moment anyway – dry. Most of the other kids were taking off as quickly as they could now that the school day had come to an end. Ripp chewed his lower lip and looked at the door, again checking for any sign of Leeta. Usually when she requested that he wait for her, she was rather quick to exit the building, but there was nothing to hint that she was on her way. He half turned, reaching out for the door handle; it was with only a moment of hesitation that Ripp pulled open the door to head inside the school once again. Maybe she was held up at her locker…

He adjusted his backpack over his shoulders as he walked through the emptying halls, looking for Leeta. What he saw when he found her by her locker made him stop short and stare helplessly.

Viran had pinned her to the set of lockers by the shoulders; the look on his face was nothing short of animalistic and he'd seized a fistful of Leeta's long blond hair. She was staring at him and looked like she was almost about to cry from the sheer terror of it.

"What don't you get?" he yelled, "You're  _mine_! You get it?" He gave her hair a sharp tug for emphasis. "Get that through your head!"

Leeta yelped once and tried to push Viran away. Ripp's backpack clattered to the floor as he let it go, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I can't believe you'd let that little rat  _touch_  you! He's trying to drag you down with him!" Viran relinquished his grip on Leeta's hair and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, yanking her away from the lockers only so he could slam her back into them.

Ripp charged, colliding with Viran and tearing the other boy away from Leeta. They tumbled to the floor already locked in a battle, Viran – cursing and swearing, Ripp – oddly silent as they grappled.

"Ripp, stop it! Don't bother!" Leeta cried as she watched the pair scuffling in the hall. "Ripp!"

Viran managed to drive the smaller boy away, snarling, "You are  _so_  dead,  _slummer_. When I get my hands on you tomorrow…" He trailed off, panting for breath.

Ripp let out a bark of laughter, relishing in the fact that Viran was already out of breath. "Like you'd stand a chance." He straightened his shirt and turned to Leeta, extending a hand to her. "You alright?"

She nodded mutely and took his hand.

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, smiling reassuringly at her. When he turned back to Viran, however, his eyes were hard. "I've told you before, you don't own Leeta and you never will. Get over it. She can do as she pleases, whether or not you agree with it.  _Don't_  make me tell you again."

His speech earned him nothing more than Viran's extended middle finger. Ripp gave his head a shake. Hopeless. He snatched up his backpack once more and started for the exit, all the while never letting go of Leeta's hand.

* * *

The rain had lightened up considerably by the time the pair of them got outside, the sun nearly peeking through the cloudy sky. Ripp looked at Leeta in concern. "You're really okay?" he asked, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

She shook her head. "I'm alright, Ripp. Really. Just a little shaken up."

His fingers trembled slightly as he tucked a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "Well…Alright. Just making sure."

Leeta nodded, sliding her arms over his shoulders as she gazed up at him. A slightly impish grin played about her lips.

Ripp looked down at her; he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Words failed him. What was he going to say anyway?

She smiled and brushed his hair back out of his eyes with a gentle hand. When his bangs flopped back into place, she simply smoothed them away again, just as tender as before. His arms wrapped around her gently, pulling her closer. She grinned and slipped her arms around his neck, one hand going to the back of his head to bring it down slowly.

By the time he'd figured out what she was doing, it was too late to stop her as their lips met.

* * *

A high, terrified scream shattered the silence that had somehow been maintained for hours. Instantly, rifles went up, the soldiers preparing to take aim at whatever danger there was. Torn whipped around and saw Allin staring wide-eyed at the approaching monstrosity. Dacey was standing next to him, pale and pointing at one of the largest known metalheads – a grunt-elephant.

"What  _is_  that?"

Torn looked from the pair of young recruits to the grunt-elephant and back. "Dangerous as hell."

Ryse couldn't quite hide his shock as he looked upon the creature, or his dismay at the sight of how heavily it was armoured. "Don't panic," he said, "It's just a perimeter guard; we're getting close."

"Just a  _perimeter guard_?" Allin squeaked. "Have you seen the  _size_  of that thing?"

The captain sighed. "It's strictly defensive, just used for the intimidation factor."

Dacey tore his gaze from the beast and focussed on his commanding officer, whimpering, "Well, it's working."

The entire raid party fell silent as they watched the electricity suddenly spark around the creature's ankles. Ryse raised a hand, signalling for them to raise their weapons and take aim. Torn hesitated, looking questioningly at the captain. "Sir…" His suggestion was silenced before he could even voice it and it was with a sigh of resignation that Torn too brought his rifle up to bear.

The next command was issued and they all fired on the creature. The bullets glanced harmlessly off its armour, ricocheting back towards the rock formations that the soldiers were hiding in.

Something over their heads growled and a few soldiers looked up just in time to spy the metalhead grunts that were about to pounce on them from above. A panicked flurry of bullets was unleashed, less than half of which came anywhere close to hitting their marks. One of the ambushing grunts landed on Torn, pinning him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. He stared up at it and couldn't shake the feeling that he was staring death itself in the face. It growled and opened its mouth to bite at his throat, but a couple of well-placed shots courtesy of the nearest Royal Guard put a quick end to its life. It collapsed, crumpling onto its side, half off of Torn, the gleaming yellow gem in its forehead falling free as the muscles holding it in relaxed.

Torn forced the carcass off of him and grabbed his rifle again, firing off quick shots at the nearest metalheads.

There came a strangled scream from behind him and Torn spun, just in time to see a particularly large grunt tear open Ryse's jugular.

Allin shrieked.

All around Torn could see Krimzon and Royal Guards alike locked in battle with metalheads. Without thinking, he shouted, "We need to get off this ledge, we're too exposed here!" He blasted another couple metalheads off the ledge sending them tumbling down onto the rocks below. "Fall back!" It was pure instinct taking him over and he quickly assumed command of the situation. Adrenaline coursed through him, reminding him that survival was the only real objective of the moment. No one questioned the order and they all bolted back the way they'd come, half the remaining troops keeping watch over the rear as they retreated.

* * *

The strike team set up a small camp after successfully escaping their immediate pursuers. The metalheads had either been shot down, or given up on the chase. Either way, everyone was about to breathe slightly easier. Casualties had been heavy, heavier than anyone had really anticipated or noticed during the retreat. A handful of soldiers had been felled by metalheads and a much larger number had been taken down during the ambush. Despite this, the raiding party was still a sizeable force, albeit one without a leader.

Torn took a seat on a nearby rock and sighed. There was no denying that the metalheads were certainly dangerous. He glanced up and froze, surprised. Every one of the remaining soldiers was looking at him expectantly, waiting for…something. He blinked and looked back at them. What in the world did they want?

"Sir?" Dacey's already timid voice was quiet, as though he were afraid of getting in trouble. "What do we do now?"

"What are you looking at  _me_  for?" Torn demanded, obviously confused.

The rest of the group seemed taken aback by the question.

"We're waiting for your orders, sir. You're the only one who seems to know what we're doing." General nodding amongst the soldiers reinforced this statement. Even the members of the Royal Guard seemed to approve.

Torn scowled slightly, struggling to wrap his head around the concept. They were looking to  _him_  as the leader now? Some lieutenant? Well, if they wanted him as their leader, who was he to say no?

Perhaps they had lost the first skirmish, but the battle was just beginning.

* * *

Ripp got home late that night, later than he'd hoped to, and he was fully prepared to spend a few hours outside as his punishment. He'd walked Leeta home and the rain had stopped for the trip, but from the look of the sky, more weather was on the way. He tried the doorknob, deciding that it might be worth a shot; he was surprised when it opened without much force. Perhaps his father wasn't home yet…

The teen kicked off his shoes and dropped his backpack on the floor before heading into the living room. He found his mother sitting on the couch with a book and no immediate sign of his father. At least, not until the hair on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably; he could feel someone's eyes on him and, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ripp realized that there could only be one owner to those eyes.

"Well, well, well…"

Ripp gulped, shuddered once and then turned slowly to regard his father.

"Finally home, are you, brat?"

"Obviously."

Simius snorted. "What were you doing?"

Ripp crossed his arms over his chest and, for once, stared levelly at his father. "Why's it matter?" he demanded.

He was roughly grabbed by the shirt collar and dragged forward. "Don't get smart with me, you little bastard. You know the rules," Simius snarled, shoving Ripp back. "Thought you could hide for a bit, did you?"

The teen arched a questioning eyebrow. Hide? Why would he be hiding?

"Don't act like you don't know. Your mother and I got a lovely phone call from you school. What's this about getting into brawls in the hallway?"

Colour drained from Ripp's face, his mouth went dry. It wasn't possible. Who in the world had seen him fight with Viran? His eyes flickered over to his mother; she was pointedly not looking at him. Of course. He'd find no help there.

"I thought you'd learned your lesson years ago. Apparently not." Simius cracked his knuckles. "I don't like having to repeat myself, Ripp."

Simius had used his  _name_ ; he was really in for it, and yet… Ripp felt almost entirely unafraid. He flicked his hair out of his eyes; there was no fear in his heart about the inevitable pain he would doubtless be enduring. If this was the result of defending Leeta, then so be it, helping her had been the right thing to do, he was sure of it. Maybe today would be a good time to  _really_ put those lunchtime defense lessons to use…

Simius took a swing at him and Ripp ducked. He bolted past his father and skidded on the carpet. The man glared at him. "C'mere, boy," he snarled.

For the second time, Ripp flicked his hair out of his eyes. "You want me? Come get me."

Simius charged him and seized the teenager around the middle. "Don't you dare give me that back talk!" He flung his son to the ground; Ripp smacked the floor and sprang quickly back to his feet. This action seemed to further infuriate Simius and he grabbed Ripp by the back of the neck, slamming him face-first into the wall.

Ripp broke away from Simius a few more times, before he received a backhand across the face that left him dazed. Unable to respond quickly for a scant few seconds, Ripp found himself at a disadvantage, trapped, pinned to the wall by his throat with his father quickly trying to choke the air from his lungs and crush his windpipe.

"You brat. You absolute  _brat_ ," Simius snarled.

The boy struggled to draw breath, blackness was closing in around the edge of his vision and his fingers struggled feebly against his father's hand, trying to pry Simius' hand away. He coughed hard, wheezing as he tried to breathe. His fingers brushed against the chain of his necklace and he blindly pulled up the fang. There was nothing to lose anymore… Not this time… If he could just get his father to loosen his grip even a little, just enough to get a bit of air… The blackness was covering more of his vision, pulsing, creeping further in. Using all the strength he could muster, Ripp drove the fang into Simius' hand.

He'd barely expected the tooth to make much of a scratch, much less break the skin. The hand on his throat pulled away as though burned and Ripp heard his father howl in agony. Through blurred eyes, Ripp could make out the sight of the fang embedded in Simius' hand. He cringed involuntarily, seeing the man tear it back out.

"You little son of a bitch! You're going to pay for this! This time,  _you're dead_." Simius' hand closed around the chain on Ripp's neck and  _yanked_. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and then, in seemingly slow motion, there was a crack and the chain slid from around Ripp's neck. It appeared, at least for a moment, that the catch had given way, but only a moment. Then the pain hit Ripp full force and he became aware of the hot liquid running down his back from the base of his neck.

He screamed.

Simius glared at him, holding the bloody necklace. The broken ends of the chain waved feebly in the air, dripping blood.

Ripp shoved Simius out of the way and bolted for the door, pausing only to quickly slip on his shoes. He wrenched open the door and took off, his father shouting curses after him.

There was the rumble of thunder overhead and lightning flashed in the sky as Ripp splashed through puddles. He didn't care where he was going anymore; he just had to get away, far away.

His throat burned and his legs felt like lead, but Ripp forced himself to keep going. Every breath seemed to sear his body and each step was harder to take than the last. Still he made himself keep running.

When he finally stopped, Ripp came to the conclusion that he had no idea where he was. That was a good sign. If he didn't know where he was, then there was no way for Simius to know either. He leaned against the nearest building for support, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. Rain dripped down his back, stinging the fresh cut and washing away the blood, leaving no time for it to clot. He raised a shaking hand and ran it gingerly across the back of his neck. His fingers came away smeared with red. He probably needed some serious medical attention.

A wave of dizziness overcame Ripp and he swayed on the spot, losing his grip on the supporting building. The ground shook beneath him, flinging him further off balance and he staggered violently. He'd nearly regained some semblance of balance when he swooned once more. The hard uneven cobblestone road rushed up to meet him as the world went black.


	17. Battle Scars

Ripp groaned as he awoke. His neck was in agony and he sat up slowly, holding his head. He looked around and flinched visibly as the fresh cut on his neck was stretched and pulled. Where was he? It didn't look like anywhere he'd ever been before. The room was dark and dingy, without windows. How had he gotten there? What had happened?

It took a surprising amount of concentration to remember and he raised his hand to prod gently at the back of his neck. Instead of skin, his fingers met with what felt like gauze. He tried to turn his head so he could get a look at what had been done to his wound, still too addled to realize that – for obvious reasons – this was impossible. He yelped once as pain shot through his neck and decided that clearly, it wasn't worth the trouble. Instinctively he reached for his necklace, aching to feel the comforting shape in his hand again.

It wasn't there.

He almost burst into tears. Seven years. He'd had it for seven years and now it was gone. It almost made the notion of trying to find his way back home to find it welcoming. The logical part of his brain reasoned that he was in no fit state to go traipsing around Haven and in even less of a state to take on his father again. He wouldn't survive another confrontation like the last one he had so narrowly escaped.

Ripp threw off the blankets that he'd been covered with and for the first time realized that he was naked. Someone had stripped him of wet clothes. He felt a blush creep unbidden across his cheeks. That was just  _awkward_. He looked around the room again and saw no sign of his clothes. With a sigh, he pulled the blankets back up, just in case.

How long he sat there waiting and wondering about where he was, Ripp couldn't say. It had surely been quite a while before the door opened and a young man entered. He looked like he was about four – maybe five – years older than Ripp and had a single red stripe painted across his cheekbones and nose – perhaps tattooed there. He muttered under his breath, clearly unaware of the teen's ability to hear him.

"Stupid Kunai…" he snarled, glaring at the roll of gauze in his hand. "Don't see why it's my job to check on the whelp… Could've just left him… Why the hell Cutlass approved…"

There was something undeniably familiar about him and Ripp cocked his head slightly to the side as he watched him. He brushed his hair back out of his eyes to try and get a better idea of why this apparent stranger seemed so familiar. The movement caught the man's attention and he jumped in surprise.

"Holy shit. You're awake."

Ripp nodded. "Been out long?"

The man shrugged. "Like I'd know. Or care. You're awake now, so that's probably the important part."

"Where are my clothes?"

Again, the man shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. They're not _my_  problem. You can ask Kunai next time she's in here. She the one who found you."

Ripp's embarrassed blush returned, stronger than last time. He'd been found by a girl? And undressed by one? That took the awkwardness to a whole new level. "Oh…"

Another shrug and the man walked towards Ripp, pocketing the gauze. He grabbed Ripp by the shoulders and held him there.

"Uh… What are you doing?"

"What I was sent in here to do. Shut up." He dug a thumbnail under the medical tape holding the bandage over Ripp's wound. With a snort he tore it off. Ripp let out a cry and instinctively lashed out at the assault, successfully backhanding the man. "You stupid little punk! You're gonna get it later!" he yelled, rubbing his face where Ripp's hand had connected. "I'm just doing what I was told to…" His hard green eyes glared daggers at the teen.

Ripp blinked at him and asked, "Caito?"

"Scythe."

"What?" Ripp cocked his head to the side once more. He'd been so sure that it was Caito. Wasn't a scythe that thing that the grim reaper was supposed to carry? It was a tool, or weapon, not a  _name_.

"I thought I told you to shut up," the man snapped, taking the gauze back out of his pocket and rolling it over the cut.

Ripp sighed but held his tongue as the dressing was changed. If only there was some way for him to do it himself without relying on this man to help.

The dressing was finished quickly and 'Scythe' took a step back. Unable to help himself, Ripp said, "I see your nose straightened back out nicely."

The comment earned him a glare, then a shocked look. "Holy  _shit_. It's  _you_." For a moment Ripp feared that he was about to be hit, but the expected blow never came. Without another word, Scythe turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Ripp flopped back down gratefully. Well, that had been bizarre. He stretched and looked at his left arm, noticing for the first time that the gauze had been removed, leaving his stitches exposed. Well, it was about time to take them out anyway; it would certainly give him something to do, and give him something to take his mind off trying to figure out where he was.

He rolled onto his side and began to untie the small knots in his arm, whimpering occasionally as he pulled the string free.

What was he going to do now?

* * *

Small rocks from the blast whizzed past Torn's head and he swore, loudly. That had been close, much too close. He looked around, taking quick note of his team. No serious injuries. Yet. That was good. Ever since their medic had been killed by one of the metalheads' sling blasters a few days previously, Torn had been struggling with the task of leading the assault and tending to his wounded. It wasn't exactly easy.

He rolled to the side just as the rock he'd been hiding behind exploded. Another hit. It seemed that the metalheads' aim was getting better. From his new cover, Torn leveled his gun and took out the nearest metalhead, though he was beginning to suspect that it was little more than a waste of time and ammo. Every time one went down, another just took its place.

It was no help to the soldiers that the creatures had a clear terrain advantage. Whoever had thought it would be wise to try and assault them in a familiar landscape clearly needed their head examined – at least as far as Torn was concerned. At that point he'd have put money on that stroke of genius having originated with Praxis too.

He gripped his rifle and fired at another metalhead, blasting it backwards into one of the small puddles of dark eco that littered the area – yet another obstacle that the strike team had been ill-informed of.

A shriek pierced the air and Torn whipped around. He'd have recognized that voice a mile away. Allin was in trouble again. Determined that the two rookies survive as long as possible, Torn had quickly learned to pick out the boys' voices from all other background noise. He bolted from his hiding place towards the sound of the scream.

The snarl of a grunt told him that he wasn't going to be alone for the trip. He sprinted as hard as he could, twisting to glance behind him once it became clear that the grunt wasn't about to give up the chase. He used one of his pistols to fire wildly at it, still running; he only turned back around once he was sure the creature was dead.

Allin had been backing into a corner by a pair of grunts, though to his credit, the boy appeared to be holding them off. A third grunt lay dead at his feet. He swung the butt of his gun down, smashing it into the face of the nearest metalhead. Unfortunately for Allin, this action served only to further enrage the beast and it lunged for him.

Torn brought his rifle up to bear as the young soldier scrambled back, searching for a slightly higher footing to strike at the metalheads from. The acting captain fired off a series of quick shots, hoping to take down the beast before it could do any permanent damage.

Allin looked up as the metalhead dropped dead next to its companion. A relieved look crossed his face as he spotted Torn. He struck at the last grunt, determination showing plainly on his features. The beast snarled and leapt for him; Allin yelped as he lost his footing and slid towards the metalhead's snapping jaws.

Again Torn fired, but this time he missed his mark. The click he heard after pulling the trigger a second time could only mean one thing – no more ammunition. Torn cast aside his rifle and drew one of his pistols, taking careful aim. Allin's scream of pain broke his concentration, his eyes flickered to the teen and with a pang he realized that the grunt had successfully gotten a hold of Allin. He glared and fired. It wasn't until the metalhead had fallen completely still that Torn dared to stop shooting at it.

There was a groan followed by what appeared to be movement from the very dead metalhead. Torn scowled and approached slowly, pistol at the ready.

"S-sir?" Allin asked as Torn came into view. "Sir, I c-can't get it off." He pushed desperately at the grunt's carcass, struggling to twist free.

Torn nodded once and holstered his gun, kneeling down to help the teen. The task proved to be more difficult than anticipated. The dead grunt's jaw remained locked firmly around Allin's left leg.

Letting out a small growl of frustration, Torn set about trying to pry Allin's leg free. Sticking his fingers in a previously living metalhead's mouth seemed like an oddly bad idea, but it was the only option he had. Cringing a little at what still seemed like a horrid idea, Torn began to force the teeth out of Allin's leg.

It took longer than it should have, thanks to the tight muscles in the grunt's jaw. Allin lay back, quivering, the back of his right hand pressed to his mouth, presumably biting down on the armour plate there. Torn pushed the carcass aside, muttering, "I do  _not_  want to know what trying to move one of those is like when rigor sets in."

Allin lowered his hand, laughing weakly, and made a move to get up, but fell back with a cry. Torn helped haul him to his feet, wincing empathetically when Allin tried to put weight on his mangled leg. He caught the teen and pulled Allin's left arm around his neck.

"Come on, kid, let's get you away from here," Torn said, drawing one of his pistols again.

Allin nodded, slumping gratefully against him. "Sorry for being a liability, sir."

"Don't be. Happens to the best of us. Just hang tight; I'll see what I can do for you once we get somewhere…safer."

Allin nodded again, clearly not up to trying to talk and hobble along at the same time.

* * *

The door to Ripp's temporary room opened again and he sat up to see who it was. Part of him hoped it was Caito, part didn't.

It wasn't Caito. Instead a woman carrying a tray entered. The lower half of her face was obscured by a mask, so only her eyes were visible. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, which swayed slightly as she approached.

Ripp gulped once and pulled the blanket up higher to make sure that he was covered.

She rolled her eyes at him and walked over to the bed. "Here. It's about time you ate something. Gods know, you look half-starved."

Ripp eyed her, and the food she'd brought, sceptically.

"Well, go on. Eat up," she urged, pushing the tray towards him.

His resolve held out only a moment longer before he picked up the spoon and started to wolf down the stew she'd brought. At that moment it was the best thing that Ripp had ever eaten. Period.

"So, honey, where are you from?"

"S'ums," Ripp muttered around a particularly large mouthful.

"Slums?" She blinked, looking surprised – or at least the visible part of her face did. "You sure were far from home…"

"S'ts the point."

"Runaway are you, dear?"

He looked at her and nodded quickly, polishing off what remained of the meal she'd given him. Ripp looked at his empty plate and then back at her once more. "Um…thanks for all this," he said, "Was I out long?"

"Oh, almost two days. I was nearly getting worried." The woman seemed to smile and patted the back of Ripp's neck gently. "Did you get this in the blast?"

"Blast?"

"The explosion in the slums? The day I found you. You missed it?" Now she looked confused, eyebrows drawing together, forming creases over her nose.

Ripp shrugged and ran a hand over the back of his neck, wincing slightly. "I guess I did."

The woman smiled at him. "You're a lucky little devil, you know."

He managed a wry grin. "Lucky's not the word I'd use to describe it."

* * *

Torn sat on the ground, watching the two young recruits across the small fire that his team had set up. Allin was leaning heavily on Dacey, gaze unfocused as he stared blankly into space. His leg had been bound as well as possible, but there was still more that could've been done. It worried Torn, worried him to the point that he'd put Dacey in charge of monitoring Allin's condition. If that wound started to show signs of infection… He didn't want to contemplate what he was going to have to do. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to it.

Dacey shot a nervous glance towards their temporary leader. "Sir, can't you do anything else?"

Torn shook his head. "No. It's all that I can do right now. We just don't have the equipment."

The teen's face fell and he readjusted how he was sitting, partially dislodging Allin. The wounded boy sat up a bit straighter only to sag against Dacey once more, this time his eyes closed.

"He's not going to…to die, is he, sir?"

Again, Torn shook his head. "Not if I can help it. We just need to get him back to Haven as soon as possible."

Dacey hugged Allin close; he looked close to tears. Allin let out a low groan and tried to shove away muttering, "No hugging, c'mon, Dace, not cool." He managed to push away from Dacey, and lay down on his side, propped up on one elbow. His green eyes fixed Dacey with a  _look_. "Quit starin' at me like that. I'm fine, it's just a bite."

"But-"

"Don't worry so much," Allin said, grinning. "If he," he pointed at Torn, "says I'm going to be okay, I'm going to be okay."

Dacey didn't appear satisfied with this. "But you don't look so good."

The other boy sat up and punched his friend lightly in the shoulder. "Looks ain't everything."

* * *

It was the middle of the night – not that it was easy to tell night and day apart this close to the nest; Torn had just gotten off watch. He hadn't even had a chance to try and get a little sleep before an extremely worried Dacey had come to find him.

"Sir?" he asked quietly, shaking Torn's shoulder. "Sir, it's Allin. Something's wrong."

Torn didn't quite manage to suppress a groan. "Like what?"

"He's feverish, sir."

The acting captain swore. Just what he needed. "Alright." He sighed once. "Well, he's losing it." Grabbing the pouch containing his medical supplies, Torn started in the direction that Dacey had come from.

Fever…fever meant infection, infection meant that Allin was in serious trouble. With a wound that big, out here… Torn absently fingered the hilt of his knife.

It was obvious that Allin wasn't faring well once the pair of them arrived. He looked sickly and shivered violently in his sleep. Sweat made trails in the grime on his face, clearly showing off how pale he had become under the dirt. Torn grimaced and turned on a flashlight, which he handed off to Dacey. He knelt next to Allin and sliced off the bandages. Dacey made a retching noise and turned away as the wound was exposed. Allin moaned and tried to move away.

Torn sighed. "Shit." The wound had festered quickly, quicker than he would have expected it to in less than two days. Something about the biology of metalheads must have affected the bite and sped up the rate of infection. Probably the amount of eco they consumed.

Allin awoke at the sound of his leader's voice. "Huh? Sir, what's going on?" He yelped when his gaze fell upon the diseased bite mark. "What's wrong with me?"

Dacey shuddered. "It looks like… _gangrene_."

Allin turned a horrified face to Torn. "Can't you do something?"

"I can but you're not going to like it."

"What?"

Torn drew his knife and made a slashing motion with it; what little colour had remained in Allin's pallid face quickly fled. He looked at his leg again and cringed. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. Do what you have to, I guess." Allin gulped and turned away.

The temporary leader sighed and reached for his medical bag. After a minute or two of rummaging, he pulled out a tourniquet and a needle – which he filled with a sedative. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that he'd have to amputate anything.

* * *

To Dacey's credit, he was a lot better about the whole blood and diseased tissue ordeal than Torn had anticipated. Not that he was participating directly with the removal of Allin's leg, but he played a key role in keeping the other boy subdued and quiet. Every time that Allin's morbid curiosity got the better of him, Dacey would cover his eyes before he could manage to get a look at what was going on. He held Allin's hand the whole time, squeezing it reassuringly whenever the other boy looked on the verge of panic.

Allin endured his emergency surgery as well as could be hoped, though he dissolved into incoherent hysteria when Torn announced that he was finished. Dacey helped calm that too, pulling Allin into a tight hug and muttering words of comfort to him until his terror had abated. It was strange to see the usually passive boy actually taking the initiative about anything; it was a nice change.

* * *

Ripp gulped as he was scrutinized by the man in front of him. He was tall, menacing, with a scar running diagonally across his face. He'd received a set of clothes, though they were too big for him and bagged over his thin frame.

"Well?" Kunai, the woman from earlier, asked.

"Bit small, and  _young_ , wouldn't you say?" the man replied, gripping Ripp by the jaw and turning his face to the side. Dimly, Ripp wondered if this was what it felt like being sold into slavery.

Kunai shrugged. "He's alone now. I sent Rifle out to check his home address. It was as we suspected, destroyed. He couldn't get details, there were too many KG swarming the area."

The man released Ripp and stalked over to her. "And now we're just supposed to take in orphans like  _this_?" he asked, making a violent gesture at Ripp; the teen instinctively flinched. "Did you see that? He's jumpy. I won't allow it."

"Cutlass, he can be trained."

"Even so, why should we keep him? What can he possibly offer us?"

Kunai nodded to Ripp. "Ask him yourself."

Cutlass turned and regarded Ripp with a cold expression, staring down his nose at him. "You, boy, you good at anything?"

"Some things."

Ripp abruptly found himself face to face with Cutlass's pointer finger and took a step back. "Don't get smart with me, you little whelp."

It was just like being home with Simius. Nothing had changed. "Well… I'm pretty alright with first aid."

Cutlass snorted, unimpressed. "Any idiot knows that. If something bleeds you slap a band-aid on it. Am I right?"

"No. Well, yes… But I know more than that."

The man arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

Ripp nodded. "Yes. I can mattress stitch wounds shut, I know what to do in the event of a punctured lung, and…" He cast about in his mind for something else that might sound usefully impressive. "I can deal with dislocations."

"Is that so, boy?"

"Ripp," he snapped.

"What?"

"My name is  _Ripp_."

"Alright then,  _Ripp_ , how do you know how to deal with these things?" Cutlass asked. His tone was almost mocking, as though he didn't believe that Ripp knew a thing that he was talking about.

Ripp paused, wondering what the best way to was to phrase the explanation of his knowledge. "You might say…personal experience."

* * *

Torn looked at Dacey. "You alright, kid?" The normally quiet boy had become abnormally silent since Allin had been sent away with a pair of Royal Guards to return to Haven that morning.

Dacey nodded solemnly and fixed Torn with an almost pleading look.

This boy…he wasn't a soldier. Not by a long shot. He was too soft for the military life. He wasn't made for battle and blood and danger, it was a fact that bothered Torn more than it should have.

"He'll be alright now, right? Allin, I mean. He'll live?"

"He should. Unless he does something particularly stupid."

Dacey nodded again, not saying a word.

Torn clapped him on the shoulder a few times. "C'mon, kid. These metalheads aren't going to get rid of themselves."


	18. No Greater Pain

The battle was failing. Torn knew it, the rest of his troops knew it; even the Royal Guard knew it. Thunder rumbled overhead and rain poured down on the soldiers, it soaked the ground and made everything slick and dangerous. Everything seemed to be working to the advantage of the metalheads; the world seemed to be conspiring against the soldiers of Haven. Even the once small and merely annoying puddles of dark eco had grown, adding an extra element of danger to the rocky terrain.

Torn crouched behind the temporary cover of a rock formation, looking at his remaining men. How many had been lost? A lot. He'd lost count. He couldn't even tell how long they'd been out by the nest anymore, all the days blurred together into one horrific nightmare.

"Alright, we've got to try and make some headway here. If we can make it to the actual centre of the nest, we just might be able to hit them where it hurts."

There was general nodding from his men.

"Right. You three," Torn said, pointing to a trio of soldiers, "You'll come at the nest from the west side rocks." He paused to point out where he wanted them on the crudely drawn map laid out before them. "You four," another selection of army men, "Will cover them from here."

"And you, sir?"

"Me and the rookie will be going along here with some of the men from the other strike teams." He pointed to what looked like a rocky and treacherous pass. "You'll try to draw them back towards here." He jabbed at the general area that the Krimzon Guard had succeeded in taking. "That should leave the entry way clear for an assault. Depending on how this all goes we'll rendezvous back by the airships. Expect to receive fresh orders; you are to  _follow_  them, no matter who has issued them. We'll be breaking communication silence for this. Got it?"

Everyone nodded. Dacey tightened the grip on his rifle and looked at Torn.

"Good. Move out."

* * *

"Oy! Shrimp! C'mere!"

Ripp looked up just as Scythe came into the room. Blood was running down his face from a gash in his temple and his hands were coated in the red fluid. Ripp's jaw dropped.

" _What_  did you  _do_?"

"A job. Quit gawking like a halfwit and come fix this," Scythe demanded, pointing to the cut on his forehead. "I ain't got all day."

Ripp didn't move. "What do you mean 'a job,' Caito?"

"I told you to quit callin' me that! And don't ask stupid questions. If Cutlass hasn't told you anything,  _like hell_  am I gonna explain it."

The younger teen sighed and got to his feet. "Alright, fine, but if I'm supposed to be getting involved in all this, I'd really appreciate knowing what's going on."

Scythe glared at him.

"Fine, fine. Got the hint. I'm shutting up," Ripp said, raising his hands in submission. He was starting to think that getting caught up with these guys – on purpose or not – was going t to be one of the worst experiences of his young life. He still didn't know exactly  _what_  went on, but when everyone else – Kunai in particular – would come back dripping someone else's blood… It made him shudder to think that they were training him to someday be out there with them.

* * *

The rock faces were sheer and steep, and much more dangerous to travel than any of the other team leaders had anticipated. The rain only made it worse. Even Torn slipped a few times, twice the small force had nearly lost men to the slippery rocks. It seemed that even the metalheads had more common sense than to try and traverse the tricky path.

Dacey, as it had been suggested, was leading. Being the smallest and lightest of the group, he was used to test the stability of some rocks or squeeze through tight spaces to see if there was a clear path on the other side. To say that he disliked the job would be putting it lightly. He'd taken to the task like a yakow to a gun course and stuck close to Torn whenever he could – which was unfortunately not very often.

They hit a particularly loose patch of dirt and no one thought much of it until the ground started to vibrate and shake. Thinking they were about to have a small pitfall on their hands, all of the guards clambered as quickly as they could up to higher ground.

A pitfall would have been lucky.

Out of the ground popped roughly two and a half dozen stingers. Few were fully mature, their skull gems not yet formed, but all of them were dangerous.

One of the men swore and took aim at the scorpion-like creatures. Torn put out a hand to stop him, too late.

The bang from his gun seemed deafening in the close quarters and the stingers scattered quickly at the sound while more sprang up from the dirt.

A Royal Guard cursed. "Anyone got a scatter mod or eco bomb?"

All the soldiers looked at each other. No one moved or made any sign of acknowledgement. "Looks like a negative on that one," someone said.

Dacey turned to Torn. "What do we do?" he asked.

Before the acting captain could answer, the guard who'd started shooting at the metalheads answered for him. "We shoot them. Duh…"

Again, Torn was unable to stop his first few erratic shots. He let out a growl of irritation. This was going to waste a lot of time. "Well… since the damage has already been done…" He drew one of his pistols and started shooting the stingers. Everyone else followed his lead. Dacey slipped once, unable to manage his rifle and stay balanced on his precarious foothold; Torn grabbed him and hauled him back up before he could fall down amidst the stingers. Torn looked back at all of the men before trying to pick off a few more of the small metalheads. "We should find another way around, there seems to be a colony of these damn things here."

"The only other way around is down, sir."

Torn sighed. "Right. Well then..." He gestured with his pistol in the direction they'd been going, "This way. We'll go along the ledge here until we're past these things."

The stinger colony stretched on longer than anyone had anticipated and the rain made it hard to cling to the rock face, but in the end no one was particularly worse for wear. A little more wet and miserable than they had been before discovering the small metalhead colony, certainly, but there was no serious harm done to any of the men.

A soldier turned and shot what had been an especially persistent stinger as they all set foot down on the path again. It let out a small death rattle and shrivelled up, dead on the path behind them.

"Right. Let's keep moving," Torn said, beckoning for his men to follow.

Dacey sighed and started to lead again, keeping his rifle at the ready. For a long stretch there didn't seem to be any real need for the young soldier to be leading. It couldn't last however and soon they came to a large break in the path. A single fallen tree lay bridging the gap between the two halves. Dacey let out a long sigh and lay his rifle on the ground.

"Looks like this is another one of my jobs..." He walked to the log and nudged it with his foot, it didn't move. It seemed sturdy enough, and Dacey stepped tentatively onto the fallen tree. Still, it didn't shift or move and – clearly feeling more confident – he walked quickly out to the middle, arms stretched out for balance. From down below there came the sound of gunfire followed by a shriek of agony and the teen missed his next step, slipping.

He let out a yell as he grabbed the slick deadwood, struggling to pull himself back up.

A few of the others shouted encouragement to him. The drop shouldn't have been very far, but no one could be sure what was waiting for him at the bottom. It  _was_ , after all, deep in the metalheads' territory.

Torn broke away from the group. He'd taken two steps onto the log when Dacey managed to get one leg back up. He flashed a grin at his leader as though to say 'I'm fine,' despite his still terror paled face.

He wavered as he straightened again and took his next step only to take another tumble off the log as the bark he'd grabbed to pull himself up flaked off underneath his feet.

Torn bolted forwards, hand extended to try and grab the boy before he fell away, succumbing to gravity. Dacey screamed and stared upwards in a panic, his fingers just brushed Torn's offered hand before he was out of reach. His cry of terror was cut short and once Torn properly looked down, he knew why.

"No...Oh hell, no..."

His gaze was fixed where Dacey had fallen. It wasn't the ground; it wasn't even right in front of a metalhead or two. It was decidedly worse. The oozing dark purple liquid could only mean one thing. Dark eco. His shoulders sagged as he stared at where the rookie had fallen. "Hell no..."

When he finally managed to tear his gaze away from the dark oozing pool below he looked up to find the rest of the men standing there in shocked silence. Torn got up and brushed off his knees, trying to look composed. "We can't stay here long. Let's go."

He couldn't think about what had just happened, there wasn't time, he had to keep going. They were all depending on him. He got to the other side, and waited for the rest of the group to catch up. Before heading off with the rest of the men Torn paused and cast one look back at the log.

"So long, kid..."

* * *

Ripp stared at Cutlass as the pistol was pressed into his palm. The cool metal of the weapon felt foreign in his hand. Heavy too, heavier than it should've, as though there were hidden weights or the gravity of the world had a stronger effect on it. It was a horrid feeling.

"You're to go with Kunai and Rifle, watch them and learn. Use it only if absolutely necessary. If someone gets a good look at you, you're on your own. Get it?"

He nodded, wishing he didn't.

"Listen to them and do exactly as they tell you."

Ripp nodded again.

Cutlass clapped Ripp on the shoulder once. "Keep this up and you'll be one of us soon."

The bottom seemed to fall out of Ripp's stomach. What if he didn't want be one of them? What then?

* * *

They'd failed. Torn sat in the airship with his head resting on his hands. Utter failure was the only way to describe it. Dacey's dying scream still echoed in his mind. By the time they had made it all the way back to the guard transports only a handful of men were left.

Everyone was loaded into the airships to begin the journey back to Haven. It was time to rethink, and regroup.

Throughout the entire trip, there was general discontented murmuring amongst the soldiers. Most of them were wondering why their king had sent them on such a suicide mission and questions in his ability to lead were flying rampant in the close quarters. Torn kept his opinion to himself, there were too many of the Royal Guard in his airship, and he'd discovered early on that questioning Praxis' judgement in the presence of his men was a good way to get in trouble. Of course, if Damas was listening to the other man, it did raise some questions about his ability to make his own decisions...

No matter what though, Torn would have rather had Damas in control of the city than Praxis. Not that there seemed to be any immediate danger for a sudden power change. He'd have to talk to Ashelin once he got back. Dimly he wondered if it was even safe to broach such a subject with her. After all, Praxis  _was_  her father. But Damas was her king; surely  _Ashelin_ wouldn't take the path that would lead her to treason. Would she?

The transport lurched violently as it began its decent and Torn looked up. Back home at last. Surely things were going to start looking up again soon. Nothing else could possibly go wrong, nothing. It would be good to be back in the city. His duties for the past few weeks would be passed to someone who was actually qualified to handle them. It took a weight off his shoulders, if only a small one. He would be a lieutenant again…

Torn stepped out of the airship, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand as he blinked to adjust his eyes to the light. His gaze fell on the figures there to meet him, three in particular. One was a teenager on crutches – his left leg missing from mid-thigh down, another was the current commander of the Krimzon Guard, and the third was the unmistakeable hulking figure of Praxis.

The moment Torn's feet hit the ground he snapped to attention. "Commander Tapani, Captain Praxis." He avoided looking at Allin; he couldn't bear the thought of having to tell him what had happened to Dacey, even so, he could still feel the boy's confused gaze on him.

Tapani stepped forward, "At ease, Captain."

Torn lowered his hand in confusion, "Sir...?"

The commander smiled at him, though it didn't reach his eyes, "The reports we've had back from your men said you took command after Ryse died. It was decided that we make it a permanent change. Welcome back to Haven, Captain Torn."

* * *

It was dark out, the only light came from a small flickering bulb above the door. Rifle reached up and quickly unscrewed it before kneeling to pull out his kit of lock-picks. How the man managed such a feat without causing himself apparent pain was a mystery.

Ripp watched in morbid fascination until Kunai moved in front of him, hands moving to his throat. For a terrifying moment, Ripp thought she meant to strangle him; however this was not the case. Instead she secured a large red bandana around his neck which she then tugged up to cover his nose and mouth, smoothing the cloth gently over his cheeks. Her hands fell to his shoulders, squeezing reassuringly.

"You don't want anyone to see you, but if they do, this should do the trick. Can't have you getting recognized on us." Kunai winked at him then turned back to look at Rifle. "How're you getting on?"

"Well it'd be easier if I had a damn light," he snarled from where he knelt, lock-pick inserted in the doorknob.

"Protocol is protocol."

Rifle muttered something then grinned as there was an audible click. "We're in."

By the time they exited the house, Ripp looked nothing short of shell shocked. He'd avoided being seen by any of the occupants, which wasn't  _too_  hard, considering most of them were asleep, but it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to bolt and head for the KG barracks. Rifle seemed to sense this and had an iron grip on the bicep of Ripp's left arm. Ripp tried not to look at the man's bloody fingers. Mercenaries... he couldn't quite manage to get his head around the concept. They were training him to become an assassin.

Dread settled in the pit of his stomach, no wonder Cutlass had become so approving since he'd started treating everyone's wounds. There was a remarkably small difference between surgeon and hired killer. And really, if a patient were to die on the operating table, when you got down to it,  _was_  there really a difference? Ripp shuddered involuntarily; these thoughts would only lead him to dark places.

His mind briefly turned to Leeta. Did she miss him? Would he ever see her again? What would she think of him if she could see where she was heading? Would she hate him? He ached to see her again, if just for a few minutes. But how could he ever explain this to her? She could never, ever find out. She'd hate him forever.

Once they returned to the home base – as it was called by everyone else – Ripp went to his room and shut the door. He sat down in a corner, knees tucked up to his chest. What had he gotten himself into and how could he get back out?

* * *

Torn looked up at the knock on his office door. If it was another person coming to congratulate him on his promotion he was going to hurt something. The failure at the nest was not – in his mind – worth the rank of captain, nor was it worth celebrating. The casualties had been heavy, not the least of which was the crippling of Allin and death of Dacey.

The knock came again, slightly louder.

"Fine, come in," Torn growled.

The door opened onto a very familiar and very tired looking redhead. He saluted smartly and stepped into the office. "Captain Torn, sir."

Torn gave him a thoroughly unamused look. "Close the door, Erol." He sighed and got up. "And drop the formalities, there's no need for that."

Erol closed the door, "Actually,  _sir_ , I'm here on duty."

The comment earned him a sceptical look as Torn sat back down. "You call me sir one more time and I'm pounding your head in. What do you want?"

Erol took a deep breath, "It is, unfortunately, my duty that I should have to inform you that during your short campaign to the nest there was...well... an accident in the slums."

"And?"

"And they put me with the clean-up and forensics unit. I...uh...got the short straw and..." Erol pulled out a pair of information pads, "I think you'd better take a look at these."

Torn took them, looking confused as he flicked them on. Why Erol couldn't just give him a straight answer was beyond him. "What sort of accident?"

Erol looked around the office, fidgeting slightly. "An explosion. It's been labelled suspicious and we're investigating it."

"An  _explosion_?"

Erol nodded, "That's what I said, isn't it?" he gestured to the data pads he'd handed the new captain, "Torn, really, you need to look at those. Top one first."

"Fine."

The redhead chewed his lower lip as he watched Torn's eyes skim down the first list before they stopped and turned up to him. He shuddered once at the look in Torn's icy stare.

"My parents are  _dead_?"

"Torn, I'm sorry."

"Where's Ripp?"

"Uh..." Erol looked away.

"Erol, where's Ripp?"

He took a step back, "Don't yell at me. I'm just doing my job. Just... look at the other one, alright?"

Torn hesitated before picking up the second info pad, "Unconfirmed dead..." he muttered. He quickly skimmed it and cast the small device aside. "So you don't know where he is?"

Erol nodded, "Officially we don't."

Torn rounded on him, getting up to glare down at his companion, " _Officially_?"

The redhead shrank back, "Look, Torn, it's nothing concrete, but..." he reached into a pocket and withdrew a small item. "Hold out your hand," he waited for Torn to do so, "I found this during the clean-up, the proximity it was to the center of the blast..." from his gloved fingers Erol dropped a bloody fang on a chain into Torn's palm, "There's no way there would have been anything for us to find of him..."

Torn's knees buckled as he stared at his brother's necklace, "No...Ripp…" Erol caught him and pulled Torn into a hug.

"I'm so, so sorry."

Torn's shoulders started to shake with hysterical sobs, though no tears fell. Erol only hugged him tighter, murmuring, "Shh...It's okay."

It earned him a miserable glare, "How the hell can you possibly say it's okay?"

"Um..." Erol blinked, "Right...it's really not. I lied." Torn just slumped, strength leaving his body. Erol let out a small grunt as he suddenly found himself supporting the entirety of Torn's weight. "Good god, you're heavier than I remember... C'mon, stand up proper."

It took quite a while before Torn was even coherent again, not that Erol was about to say anything about it. The pair of them sat on the floor of Torn's office backs against the wall. Erol had one arm wrapped around Torn's shoulders.

"Look, I know this isn't going to be particularly helpful, but...It's not the end of the world. You're gonna wish it was, because it's going to hurt, but I promise, this isn't the end."

"Yeah, thanks... Like you'd get it." The words were out of Torn's mouth before he could stop them – had he wanted to.

Erol froze before looking at Torn like he'd never really seen him before. " _I_  wouldn't  _get_  this?" He sighed and pulled his arm away from Torn, getting up. His boots on the office floor clicked frantically as he began to pace. "I wouldn't understand this, hmm?"

Too late Torn realized his mistake.

"I've spent enough time here, I'm still on duty. Sorry for having to be the bearer of bad news,  _sir_. If you still need company, I'm  _sure_  Ashelin would love to see you again. Go out to a bar; get a stiff drink or two. By the way, you're relieved of duty for the next two weeks. See ya then."

"What?"

"Yeah, time for you to mourn," Erol snorted and put his hand on the doorknob.

"Erol, wait."

"Give me one  _incredibly_  good reason."

Torn sighed. "I don't want you to go yet."

Erol pursed his lips, "Mm...No. Not particularly incredible. Unfortunately, as you are now my commanding officer, I am duty-bound to wait until you have dismissed me." He sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest like a sulking child. "Dammit."

Torn blinked, "Have you ever considered that you take the military too seriously?"

"Nope. Never. Not a chance."

"No?"

"No."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Erol got up again. "I really  _am_  on duty, you know..."

Torn snorted, "Fine. Go. What do I care?"

Erol sighed, "Stop making me feel guilty about this."

"No."

"C'mon, it's not  _my_  fault..."

It earned him a glare, "Did I say it was? No, I don't believe I did. So just scram, since you're so eager to get going."

The redhead sighed again, "Fine, fine. Just...take it easy. Seriously, go talk to Ashelin and just let down for a while. Word is, Tapani and Praxis are riding the new captains like there's no tomorrow."

Torn shuddered, "Thanks for the warning."

"Anytime." Erol put his hand on the doorknob and looked at Torn questioningly.

The new captain sighed, "Sorry for snapping at you."

Erol shook his head, "Don't be. You've got an excuse. I don't. Don't sweat it, okay? You've got a lot to think about." He walked back over to his friend and knelt in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You gonna be alright on your own for a while? I don't have to put you on suicide watch or anything, right?"

Torn nodded, "I'll manage."

Erol gave him a quick hug and stood back up. "Look after yourself, don't do anything stupid, and I'll talk to you later." With that Erol headed out the door.

Torn got sullenly to his feet and locked his door before taking a seat at his desk. He looked at Ripp's necklace still clutched in his hand.

"Why? Why couldn't I be here for you?" He gripped the necklace tighter. "Why, dammit? I should've been here." He leaned forward and set the necklace on his desk. He sighed and massaged his temples.

Suddenly everything about being part of the Krimzon Guard seemed like a horrible mistake.


	19. Haven's Armoury

Erol let out a low grunt as he hauled Torn through the door to his apartment. He released the other man and watched as the new captain staggered sideways from the sudden shift in balance. Ordinarily, the redhead might have smirked, or laughed, but this time he was simply too tired to.

Torn looked at him with unfocused eyes, clearly not taking in much of the situation as he leaned against the wall.

Erol shrugged his coat off, revealing his undershirt and shot a glare at Torn as he hung it up. "You know, I told you to go out and get a few drinks. I didn't think you'd  _listen_."

The comment merely received a blank look in reply.

"Honestly, Torn, you're the  _responsible_  one."

Torn's brow furrowed. "Who said I wasn't?"

The lieutenant sighed. "I think the fact that it's two-thirty in the morning, you're plastered out of your mind, and  _I_  had to go get you should be enough of an answer." He turned his golden gaze longingly to the clock on the wall then looked back at Torn.

"So what?"

"Ugh, never mind. I'll tell you when you're sober." Erol turned away, muttering angrily under his breath.

Torn trailed after him, following Erol to the living room and narrowly avoided walking into one of the walls along the way. Erol simply sighed and shoved the older man on to the couch. For a moment they stayed there, staring at each other. The redhead rubbed agitatedly at the skin between the second and third knuckles of his right hand, staring down his nose at the intoxicated captain. Torn leaned back against the sofa and watched the other man through obviously murky vision.

"You stay  _right here_ ," Erol said, jabbing a finger at the couch for emphasis. He glared and leaned forward pointing a threatening finger straight at Torn's face. "You  _owe_  me for this, Torn."

"Put it on my tab."

It drew a temporary grin from Erol. "Phrase of the night, I'm sure." He took a couple tentative steps back, not daring to turn his back on Torn, not so much as letting his eyes flicker from him for an instant. "You get sick in here, and I'll make you regret the very day you were born.  _Do I make myself clear?_ "

Torn shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

"Good enough. See you in the morning." Erol turned away, smirking. "I certainly hope you enjoy your hangover as much as I'm going to."

* * *

When Torn awoke, he did so with a reluctant groan. His head was pounding on a borderline migraine and the bizarre noise that had woken him did nothing to ease this fact. He sat up, clutching his head and fighting back a moan. Only once he was sitting up, did Torn manage to look around at his surroundings. Erol's quarters. There was the vague recollection of having gotten there the night before, but the details were fuzzy to say the least. Something suggested that Erol had been less than pleased about the entire affair.

He staggered upright and cringed visibly as the strange, loud clanging sound came again from the kitchen. What in the world was Erol  _doing_?

It was only once he got to the kitchen that Torn found out what the noise was. He stopped in the entranceway and stared, gripping the doorframe.

A very smug, if tired, looking Erol was sitting on the counter, stainless steel pot in hand; two others lay on the floor before him. He looked up at Torn and smirked evilly, the dark circles under his eyes did nothing to lighten the impact of his expression.

"Good morning." With a casual flick of his wrist, Erol tossed the pot to the floor where it collided with the other two.

Torn grimaced, flinching at the sound. "You bastard."

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?" Erol teased, hopping off the counter to carelessly kick the trio of pots out of his way.

"God, I hate you."

The redhead walked over to Torn and patted his cheek, a patronizing grin plastered across his face. "I  _know_  you do. Poor baby."

"Why are you being such a dick right now?"

Erol arched an eyebrow and pursed his lips, feigning thought. "Let's think, shall we?" He started counting on his fingers. "One: you got yourself hammered and called me. At two in the godforsaken morning. Two: insomniac. Three: I'm under so much goddamn pressure right now, it's not even  _funny_. Four: I feel like it. Get it?" he snapped. "Almost all of those should've been perfectly obvious to you."

Torn massaged his forehead slowly, groaning.

"What?"

"Your voice. Why is it so  _high_? Dial it back a bit?"

Erol gave him a thoroughly disgusted look. "How about  _no_? It's your own fault you've got a hangover."

Torn sighed. He should've known better than to expect any sort of sympathy. "C'mon…"

"No. Tough it out." There was a moment of silence and then Erol's scowl deepened. "What do you mean my voice is high? It's not high!"

Again, Torn sighed, giving his head a slight shake. Erol rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. The pair of them shared a small, unspoken staring contest, which Erol won. Torn turned away and went back to the living room. If Erol was going to insist on being in such a foul mood, he wasn't going to deal with him.

The new captain sat down on the couch, head in his hands. Everything seemed to be going wrong. The news from the previous day was still sinking in.

Ripp, his parents… How could they be dead? It just wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Things weren't supposed to happen like this. Particularly not when he was off fighting someone else's war. All of them… How had he lost them all? How could he have lost them so easily? If only he'd been able to go home and visit them one last time… Everything he'd known was gone, and all in an instant…

Muffled footsteps sounded on the carpet of the living room. Erol walked over and swept his pile of newspaper clippings off the coffee table, setting them on the floor. A mug of black coffee and pair of migraine pills were slammed down on the table and he folded his arms over his chest as he looked at Torn. "You're pitiful sometimes."

"Get bent."

"Oh come now, don't be like that. You could at least say thank you."

Torn glared at him. "Fine. Thank you."

Erol snorted. "You're welcome. Drink up."

Torn picked up the migraine medication and dry swallowed it before taking a long drink of the coffee. Erol took a seat on the coffee table and watched him for a bit before getting back up. He meandered over to the window and pulled open the blinds, smirking as Torn winced at the sudden light.

"You're enjoying this far too much," Torn muttered, shielding his eyes with a hand.

Erol's smirk didn't disappear as he looked over his shoulder at Torn. "On the contrary, there's no such thing. Besides, I'm going easy on you."

"Is that so?" Torn asked sceptically.

"Totally. I could be a real jackass right now."

"And you're not already?" he asked, scepticism more apparent than ever.

"Touché." Erol sighed once, looking at Torn. "Don't think I'm about to start being nice to you. You should know better than to expect that." He walked over to the pile of newspaper clippings he'd set on the floor and picked them up. Torn's eyes followed him over the rim of his coffee mug.

"What are those?"

"Oh, just me monitoring a recently changed situation which is  _none_  of your goddamn business. That's what."

Torn sighed and set the mug down. "Come on, not that again."

"No."

The taller man glared at the lieutenant for a moment. "As your commanding officer, I'm ordering you to tell me what you're up to."

Erol arched an amused eyebrow. "You can't do that. You're not on duty."

"Fine, have your stupid little secrets. Like I care."

The redhead shrugged nonchalantly and walked out of the room.

* * *

Ripp yelped once as the bandages were removed, exposing the shiny new keloid scar tissue underneath. His whimpers went unheeded, however, as Rifle tore the gauze away. The boy closed his eyes, feeling the other man poking at the freshly healed wound.

"Looks pretty well better to me," he said, turning to Cutlass, "What do you think?"

Cutlass's hands fell heavily onto Ripp' bare shoulders as he examined the mark. "Should be alright now, I think. How's it feel?"

It took Ripp a moment to realize that the question had been directed at him. "Oh. Um… Alright, I suppose. Doesn't really hurt anymore." He ran a hand along the raised ridge of skin and couldn't help cringing. It didn't hurt anymore, no, but it certainly felt hideous – a jagged speed bump of skin at the base of his neck… He looked back over his shoulder Cutlass; the other man was grinning and Ripp couldn't quite repress a shudder at the menacing expression.

"Good," the leader said, "You'll be going out with Kunai and Scythe tonight."

"More observation?" Ripp asked, notes of fear wavering in his voice.

Cutlass's grin grew and, again, Ripp shuddered. "Not quite."

The bottom dropped out of Ripp's stomach. If he wasn't going to watch and learn, did that mean that…?

* * *

Torn leaned heavily against the table, examining the necklace in his hands – Ripp's necklace. His stomach churned at the sight of blood on the fang – Ripp's blood. He hadn't gotten it tested, after all, who else's would it have been? There was a part of him that longed to wash it off and clean the only token he had of his brother, the rest of him insisted that he leave it as it was.

He wasn't sure what to do with himself anymore, not with so much time off. Torn had taken to hanging around the KG barracks – the cafeteria in particular. The idea of being around so many people was somewhat comforting, even if he didn't speak to any of them.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and he turned, looking up to find himself face to face with Ashelin. He managed to give her a small smile as he stuffed the necklace back into his pocket.

"Hey."

She sat down next to him and pulled Torn into a tight hug. "I'm sorry about what happened."

He blinked in confusion and pulled away, brow furrowing. "Uh…Thanks? How'd you know?"

Ashelin smiled slightly, hold him at arms' length to get a better look at him. "Erol had a bit of a panic attack over the whole thing and came to talk to me before you got back. It was a bit strange." She sighed once and cupped his face in her hands, examining him as though she were looking for some telltale detail of his emotions.

Torn's next attempt to grin failed.

"You alright?"

He shook his head. "No, not really."

Ashelin stroked his cheek with the back of a hand. "Is there anything I can do?"

Again, Torn shook his head. "No. Not unless you know of some way to bring back the dead, then no. Not particularly."

"So… They're all really gone?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well… When Erol came by, your brother was still unconfirmed. That changed?"

Torn gave a half-hearted shrug, semi-nodding along with the action. "Pretty much. He said the evidence was strongly supporting…" he trailed off hopelessly. After a moment of contemplation he pulled out the necklace once more and looked at it.

Ashelin took his hand in both of hers. "That's not exactly  _proof_."

"It's enough. He never took it off. Besides, how could I possibly find out now?"

She shrugged. "There are ways, I mean… You could always give it a shot at the bazaar's mystic."

This provoked eye rolling from Torn. "I'm depressed, not crazy." He was silent for perhaps half a second then lifted his hands semi-defensively. " _Not_  that I think  _you're_  crazy or anything, I was just saying that… Shoot."

Ashelin fixed him with an expression that was part amusement, part curiosity. "Well, it's up to you. She's apparently a very good one."

"Maybe later."

She sighed and hugged him again. Torn was no more prepared for it than he was the previous time. "I forgot to mention how good it is to have you back in one piece."

The comment drew a slight grin from him. "What? You were worried about  _me_?"

"Of course. For all I knew, you weren't going to come back. Or you were going to be crippled. I  _saw_  the soldiers who were returning. It wasn't pretty."

Torn quashed the thoughts of Allin and Dacey before they could properly form. "Nah," he said, "I'm too tough for that."

Ashelin flicked him hard in the nose. "So you say now." She stood and took his hand. "I think we should go somewhere else, don't you agree?"

Torn shrugged and got to his feet. "Sure. Lead on."

* * *

Ripp collapsed, landing hard on his knees and stared at the ground. What had he done?  _What had he done?_  This man could have been perfectly innocent and now, now he was dead… He shuddered and turned away from the corpse and blood pooling around it. He felt like he was about to be sick. Since when could he take someone's life? What had he done?

A high whimper escaped him and his hands flew to cover his mouth and nose as he screwed his eyes shut tight. He rocked back and forth slightly, drawing wavering breaths between his fingers. His hands were trembling, his entire body on edge, skin prickling uncomfortably. He was a murderer.

A hand was laid on his shoulder, squeezing sympathetically. "It was your first, wasn't it?" Kunai asked.

He managed a shaky nod and looked at her. A tremor shot up his spine, and then raced back down when he saw that her dark eyes were smiling above the mask.

"Good." She knelt and picked up one of the small knives he'd used for the kill. Blood dripped from it as he held it in front of his face. "Christening time. Open your mouth."

Ripp stared at her. Surely she couldn't be serious.

"C'mon, it's tradition where I come from. They say it'll keep the ghosts of the dead away. Open your mouth."

Scythe snorted. "Hurry it up, wimp."

Ripp shot a quick glare at Scythe, squeezed his eyes shut tight, and opened wide. A coppery tang filled his mouth as Kunai laid the flat of the blade against his tongue. Ripp gagged. After what felt like ages, the blade was removed. Ripp refused to open his eyes, unable to open them and have to face the reality of what he'd done. Again.

"Swallow," Kunai demanded. She turned to Scythe. "Get Cutlass on the line, we need his new name."

The teen swallowed reluctantly, gagging a second time. He heard Kunai laugh as Scythe contacted the gang leader. His eyes snapped open when he felt someone's thumb smearing something wet over his forehead. Kunai's eyes were laughing. "Hold still," she said, "This is important." The tip of her thumb was red. More blood. Wonderful.

Scythe snorted.

Kunai ignored him and dipped her fingers in the pool of blood near her knee. With deft and practiced fingers, she added a long streak to each of Ripp's cheeks and a quick smudge down his chin. She looked at Scythe. "What's the name?"

He smirked. " _Blade_."

She grinned and stood up, unclipping a small flask from her belt. She gave it an experimental couple of swishes and took a step towards Ripp. Standing over him, she unscrewed the lid.

"With this trial you have shown your worth." Ripp instinctively closed his eyes again. "And as such you have now earned your passage to become one with us. Ripp, and everything that he was, is now gone. Your new life begins today." Kunai upended the flask over his head. Odd smelling liquid quickly soaked into his hair, clothes, and skin. It stung the fresh scar at his neck and seemed to cling and gather around his face. "With this water, your past life is washed away. Never look back, never regret. You are Blade. Arise."

The newly dubbed Blade rose shakily. Kunai clipped the flask back on her belt and motioned for Scythe. "Let's go."

* * *

Torn knelt in front of the old woman warily. The fact that he'd decided to come after all was certainly saying something. He'd never actually believed too much in all of this 'mystic' stuff, but now… he needed to know. If there was even the slightest chance…

"Greetings, Torn," said the monkey-parrot thing Torn had encountered on his previous visit – Ashelin had told him it was named Pecker, but Torn wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't trying to have some fun at his expense.

Further back in the tent, the blind woman waved her hands vaguely.

"Onin says you seem to have a question for her."

He adjusted his grip on the bloody necklace. "I need to know…"

Onin extended a hand and Torn dropped the chain into it. After a few moments she gripped his hand and pressed the broken necklace back into his palm. She started to move her hands about again. There were still none of the blue sparks that Torn had seen on his previous visit.

"You seek knowledge about your brother," Pecker said matter-of-factly, translating. "Onin says she has been expecting this question from you for a while."

Torn blinked. "But I only learned about it yesterday. How's that possible?"

"Today, yesterday, tomorrow, time is an illusion," Pecker said, flapping an irritable wing. "That's irrelevant."

Onin clapped her hands once then waved her fingers, drawing blue sparkling symbols in the air as Torn watched her, unable to comprehend what she was trying to communicate. His brow furrowed as he tried to focus on one of the marks before it faded. It looked familiar…almost like… one of the tattoos around Erol's eyes. What did  _that_  mean? And why in the world would it relate to Ripp?

"Onin says that there is much confusion surrounding your brother. She says that it will come clear in time."

Torn barely suppressed a growl of frustration. "So is he-?"

Pecker flapped at him to shut him up. "Onin says that your brother,  _Ripp_ ,is gone."

"So you're trying to mess with me. And he's really gone. Great." Torn sighed and made a move to stand up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Pecker demanded, flying off of the bowl on Onin's head to block Torn's exit. "We are not finished with you," he huffed, flapping menacingly in the captain's face.

"Yeah? Well I'm done with  _you_. I don't even believe in this mystic crap," Torn snapped, attempting to brush the moncaw out of his way.

"Oh really, pretty boy? Then why are you here?"

Torn froze.

In the back of the tent Onin began gesturing once more.

"Onin says you believe more than you admit."

"As if. I'm outta here," Torn snarled, trying again to brush Pecker out of his way.

"Onin says you'll be back."

Torn snorted. "You know what? Onin can stuff it. And so can you." He successfully swatted Pecker out of the way and stalked out of the tent.

Pecker flew back to Onin, looking smug. "He'll be back."

* * *

Cutlass was beaming by the time that Blade returned with Kunai and Scythe and he punched the newest member of the gang playfully. "Guess I was wrong about you, kid. You did good."

The teen forced a smile and rubbed his arm where he'd been hit. If he'd done  _good_  then why did he feel so  _bad_? It didn't add up. Kunai seemed to grin and ruffled up his hair. For a moment, all that Blade could think of was the bygone days with his brother and how Torn would muss his hair whenever he'd made him proud – or any other reason he could think of. The thought soon passed as he was slapped – a little  _too_  hard – on the back by one of the other men – Musket.

"Welcome to Haven's Armoury, Blade."


	20. Coup d'etat

Boots pounded on the hard marble of the palace floor as the soldiers thundered their way through the halls – Praxis at the lead. Torn cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Erol, but the redhead didn't look his way. There was a small comfort to be found in the fact that Commander Tapani looked as uneasy as he felt – the commander was a firm loyalist to Damas, everyone knew it. Torn turned his gaze forward once more, gripping his rifle tight, whatever was really happening, he had a bad feeling about the outcome.

With a sound like gunfire, the doors to the throne room banged open. Damas was on his feet in an instant, demanding an explanation. Praxis strode forward, slight swagger to his steps, the lights of the throne room glinted off the metal that now covered most of his head – the result of massive injuries he'd received on his single campaign to the metalhead nest almost a year previously.

Torn bit his lower lip and looked over at Erol again. He was shocked to see that the other man seemed to be enjoying this; there was a sadistic gleam in his eyes, not entirely unlike the look he got following a race.

"It's over, Damas," Praxis rumbled, "The people have lost their faith in you. Surely even  _you_  have noticed that."

Damas opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by the sound of the Royal Guards cocking their guns. At a signal from Praxis, four of them surged forward to seize Damas and haul him roughly towards the congregation.

Tapani shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching nervously on his rifle as he stepped forward. There was pain in his expression as he gazed upon his king.

"Tapani, why?" Damas asked.

The commander swallowed and shot a quick look at Praxis. There was genuine apology in his voice when he spoke, "I'm sorry, your highness. Come quietly and there won't be any trouble."

"Every man has his price," Praxis snarled, shoving Tapani roughly out of the way. "Enough talk. Get him out of here."

It proved to be much more difficult to get Damas out of the throne room than Praxis had apparently anticipated and in the end it took a sharp blow to the back of the head to knock the king out and subdue him. Orders from that point on were clear, anyone who tried to stand in the way was to be gotten rid of. This unfortunately included any rogue guards, Damas' former advisors, and the queen.

Somewhere in the middle of the fray, Prince Mar had gotten caught up. Praxis' booming voice had issued a demand to find the child. The moment the order had been shouted, Torn began to scour the area for the young prince, determined not to let Praxis get his hands on him.

There. Out of the corner of his eye, Torn saw it. A flash of green and blue. He turned, wishing he were closer to the boy. Erol, however, was. Torn pointed towards the prince, shouting, "Erol, get the kid!"

"I'm already on it!" Strangely enough, Erol appeared to have already bolted towards the boy with the intent to seize him – odd, as Erol rarely listened to orders so well. He reached out and almost grabbed the child when there was an angry bark followed quickly by a yell of surprise.

The boy's guardian crocadog had lunged at the captain, catching Erol off guard and nearly sinking its teeth into his thigh. In spite of this, Erol recovered quickly and kicked the mutt into the nearest wall where it fell limp.

Prince Mar stared, terrified as Erol approached and snatched him up. He squirmed desperately and tried to break away, small hands slapping weakly at Erol's face, but the man's grip was unrelenting.

"C'mon, kid. Don't make this difficult."

Torn allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. He beckoned to Erol. "This way!"

Erol shook his head and took off in a completely different direction. Torn darted after him. "Erol!" They had to keep that kid safe. If Praxis or one of his allies got a hold of him, who knew what could happen.

The redhead skidded to a stop in front of the elevator as the doors hissed open, revealing a smirking Count Veger. Torn froze for a moment and then whipped out one of his pistols and took aim. Veger ignored him, looking only at Erol.

"Good to see you, Captain. I'll take that. Bravo." Veger gestured to the boy cowering in Erol's arms.

Erol shrugged and passed him over as he stepped into the elevator.

"What are you doing?" Torn demanded, suddenly unsure at whom his weapon should be point.

Again, Erol shrugged. "My job. Allegiance goes to the highest bidder. And that's no longer you. See ya." He pressed a button and the door to the elevator slid shut once more.

* * *

Kunai came into the room, grinning. Not that it was ever exactly easy to be certain as to what her expression was beneath the mask. It unnerved Blade that he'd never seen her without it.

"Power change," she announced gleefully.

Rapier and Scythe shrugged uncaringly, but Cutlass was on his feet in an instant, stalking over to Kunai.

"Power change?" he asked, "What sort of power change?"

She appeared to smirk. "Damas is gone. Praxis staged a coup – quite a successful one; he's named himself Baron now."

Blade feigned interest in his drawings while he listened to the pair of them. So Damas was gone, that was a good thing, wasn't it? Now the war would end and he wouldn't have to cringe every time he saw that a soldier had been killed in action. Not that he was allowed to care about that anymore. Ripp was gone, dead and had been so for the last three years – but sometimes he still needed to remind himself of that fact.  _Blade_  didn't care if soldiers were killed in action;  _he_  didn't know any.

"Baron? That's awfully pretentious, wouldn't you say?"

Blade resisted the urge to say that it was just the sort of arrogant thing they could've expected Praxis to do.

Kunai shrugged. "Cutlass, it's Praxis."

"Hmm…" Cutlass massaged his chin slowly, as he always did when deep in thought. "And the new KG commander?"

"It's still Tapani."

" _Really_? Odd move on Praxis' part."

This time, Blade couldn't help himself. "Why?"

Both Kunai and Cutlass turned to regard him.

"Why what?" Kunai asked, almost as though she were speaking to a young child.

Blade struggled not to show his annoyance at being addressed in such a demeaning manner. "Why's it odd that he'd keep Tapani? He's a good commander, isn't he?" the teen asked.

Cutlass smiled. Was that  _pride_? Surely not. "You're sharp, kid, but Tapani's a sworn loyalist. I don't see him taking well to a shift from the royal family to Praxis. It'll be interesting to see who goes first."

"Oh…"

Cutlass turned his attention to Kunai once more. "Well, this is good news for us. Praxis has always been more sympathetic to… _our kind_  than Damas ever was."

Scythe didn't even bother to look up. "Great. Glad this got over and done with. Never really liked Damas anyway."

Everyone in the room – save Rapier – stared at him.

"Over and  _done with_?" Kunai asked. "You've got a lot to learn about politics, Scythe. This is just the start of very, very big changes."

* * *

And changes there certainly were. Only two months after Praxis' seizing control of Haven and it was becoming clear that things had taken a very sharp, very sudden turn for the worse. In nearly no time at all, Praxis had transformed Haven into a strict city state.

There were whispers of an underground resistance force, determined to put the rightful heir back on the throne. The royal guard had been abolished, its forces being assimilated into the KG. New recruiting measures were being taken to add to the forces of the Krimzon Guard – juvenile delinquents were conscripted into the military for minor offenses. Patrols were doubled and spies were placed in all manner of places. Possibly the most startling change of all though was the disappearances.

Anyone who was suspected of having connections to the underground swiftly became absent from society. People were afraid to talk for fear they'd be next. It wasn't limited to the general public either. Those within the Krimzon Guard were at just as much disadvantage – perhaps more so. The initial purge had left the KG full of those who supported Praxis wholeheartedly, and the mere mention of a possible traitor seemed to be enough to send them on a warpath.

The whole situation put Torn on edge. His sudden, jarring promotion to commander didn't help. Tapani had left a large amount of work, much of it concerning the recently formed underground resistance force that had sprung up following Damas' removal from power. It was more than Torn was prepared to handle. Basic needs – such as sleep – were things that Praxis had more or less told him to temporarily do without. Everything seemed to be working against him. A great majority of the problems seemed to have been facilitated by a certain hot-headed captain, who had been focusing on making Torn's life little more than a living hell.

* * *

The new commander walked into his new office and took a seat at his desk. After a few months on the job, Torn still wasn't accustomed to his higher status. It was with great resignation that he rummaged slowly through his paperwork; the seemingly never-ending paperwork…. He sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Why? Why him?

There was a faint rustle to his left and Torn turned his head to see what had caused it. He scarcely had time to react as Erol stepped into the light, put him in a headlock and covered his nose and mouth with a sweet-smelling cloth.

He smirked, muttering a disdainful, "Nighty-night,  _Commander._ "

And the world went black.

* * *

Torn couldn't help his horror as he stared up at his former friend, disarmed and kneeling before Erol he felt oddly vulnerable. Erol's eyes were glowing with a sick and twisted form of delight as put the gun to the oval on Torn's forehead. Torn's stomach knotted as he was reminded of Tapani's – still supposedly unresolved – death. The apparent suicide, though everyone who'd seen him in his last hours had said that the man didn't seem suicidal… Tapani's death had been declared 'suspicious,' but a thorough investigation hadn't followed, Praxis had decided that it would be little more than a waste of precious resources to bother. It had been quickly followed by Torn's promotion to commander and Erol's rise to the newly created rank of sub-commander.

Erol's voice snapped Torn back to reality. "Sorry, Torn. Nothing personal, you know, but you're in my way. It's best for Haven. You're just not cut out for this job anymore."

"You're mental."

Erol laughed, a broken, psychotic sound, lowering his weapon. "I've heard you. Ever since the new measures Praxis has been taking with the civilians were implemented. You're faltering. You said it to Ashelin, saying how it doesn't sit well with you, all this sacrificing innocent lives…How cute." The barrel of the gun slammed back into Torn's forehead with surprising force. "They have underground connections and you know it!"

"Doesn't make them guilty."

Erol lowered his gun once more and started to pace circles around Torn. "Come now, Torn, it's all for the greater good of Haven. It's the fastest way to get to the underground leaders. They either break under the threat of loss, or the snap after the fact. Deals with the problem quite nicely, I think. Take Tapani for example."

Torn glared as Erol continued to circle him like some wild carnivore toing with defenceless prey. "You offed Tapani too?"

Erol laughed again, and the sound was no less disconcerting the second time. "God no. He did himself in. I've seen the security tape. It was  _beautiful_."

"You're  _sick_."

"Ah, Torn, there's nothing quite like watching a man blow his own brain out. The blood, the brain matter, the skull fragments everywhere… He did it in your new office; Praxis ordered some of our newest recruits to clean it up." He chuckled once. "Did that ever come out of the carpet, by the way?"

Torn glared.

"No? I thought it mightn't." Erol came to a stop in front of Torn once more. "Tapani was weak, just like the underground leaders." When this comment earned no reply, Erol continued, giving Torn a smack in the side of the face with his gun, "You know it's true. The only one who could rule the underground would be someone with nothing to lose. No family, no friends, no leverage. Someone…like me." He began to circle again, grinning maliciously.

"No friends, huh?" Torn asked sceptically.

"Don't flatter yourself. You don't mean anything to me. I thought I'd made that clear enough."

"Then why am I still alive?"

Erol froze. For a split second, it looked like Torn had struck a nerve, but when Erol turned to him, he was smirking. "It isn't obvious? You're far too  _fun_  to kill. Yet."

Torn's expression was sceptical.

"Don't bother trying anything. I'm not above a quick shot to head – even if it  _would_  be a shame." His spiked boots began clacking on the smooth floor once more and his pacing resumed yet again. His gun hand hung limp at his side, unprepared for use.

Torn watched him. There was the slightest chance that he  _could_  get away… He knelt there, calculating, watching the Krimzon guard circle him. Erol's gun was in his left hand, his dominant one. Moving clock-wise meant that his right hand was always going to be on the inside of the circle.

"Now just  _what_  I'm going to do with you, I'm not really sure. I know our Baron might have a few ideas about what should be done with disloyals like you, but I've got a few of my own."

There was only going to be one shot at this. Torn waited until the next time Erol got on his right side, then, he bolted.

The door barely opened in time for him to avoid slamming into it and he skidded on the slick floors of the hallway. There wasn't time to stop or think about where he was going, the footfalls behind him told him Erol wasn't going to be far behind. Without a weapon, he wouldn't stand a chance against Erol; his best option was to run.

He ducked in between a pair of guards just as Erol let out a cry of, "Grab him!"

Torn swore and forced himself to run faster. Cries of confusion and the sound of people smacking into each other chased him down the hall. He sped around a corner and ran straight into another guard. Cursing his luck, Torn brushed himself off and kept going. He couldn't afford to waste a moment.

"Commander Torn?"

Against his will, Torn skidded to a halt and turned reluctantly to face the speaker. "Allin?" He hadn't recognized the boy, given the rush he'd been in.

The young sergeant looked at him. "What's going on, sir?"

Torn shook his head. "I don't have time."

"Time to what?"

Torn shook his head again, shot a quick look down the hall and waved Allin's question off. They were about to catch him. He darted off again. The shouts of 'traitor' followed him down the hall and spurred him on. There was the pounding of feet behind him, much closer than he'd expected and he chanced a look back. It was Allin. He groaned inwardly, not  _another_ person intent on catching him.

It wasn't until the sergeant actually caught him that Torn realized there was something very wrong with the scenario. He was pulled sideways through a door which Allin slammed shut and locked. Torn looked at him, confused and out of breath; his eyes kept drifting to Allin's legs as he tried to figure out how the sergeant had two again.

"It's not true, is it? What they were shouting? You're not a traitor, are you, sir?"

"What happens if I say that I am?" Torn asked.

Allin gaped at him, shaking his head. "You can't be…"

Torn shrugged and leaned against the door. "You can decide that for yourself. Personally, I think anyone who's loyal to Praxis is the traitor in this situation."

The younger man seemed to contemplate this for a while. Torn heard the other guards thunder past the door, and didn't quite manage to hide a grin as he heard Erol curse at the other men for losing him. After what seemed like ages, Allin pulled out a pistol and looked at his commanding officer.

"Erol will be pissed when he finds out you killed me. He really wanted the chance."

"Sub-commander Erol can rot in hell," Allin said, flipping the gun in his hand and offering Torn the grip of the weapon. "I'm with you."

Torn grinned at grabbed the gun. "You're sure? This is the point of no return."

Allin nodded. "You saved my life more times than I can count back at the nest. I think I owe you this much at least."

"I'm not trying to call in a debt."

Allin shrugged one shoulder. "I owe you a lot. My loyalty included."

Torn nodded again. He was about to pull open the door when he paused and looked back at Allin. "How the hell did you get your leg back?"

The sergeant laughed and drew his second pistol, rapping it against his thigh; it made a metallic clang. "Cybernetics."

Another nod from Torn and he put his hand on the doorknob. "Right then. Let's go."

* * *

Blade glanced up at Rifle, did a double take and snatched away the newspaper that the other man was reading. "What the…?"

"Oy! Blade!" Rifle snapped, too shocked to really take immediate action against the teen.

Blade held up a hand to shush him. "Just lemme read this. I'll give it back." His pale blue eyes quickly skimmed down the article a concerned look working its way deeper and deeper onto his face the further he read. "No. No, no, no."

Rifle glanced up, his newly embedded skull gem glinting in the light. "No what, Blade?

The teen didn't even look at him. "Get this, 'Today in a press conference  _Commander Erol_  was introduced to the public for the first time. He was quoted in saying, "It's really a shame about the untimely passing of my predecessor, but I believe that stronger leadership is required for this city to survive. I'm honoured that I have been selected for this challenge." This announcement was well received, though further details about former Commander Torn's sudden disappearance were not given.'  _What_  are they talking about?" Blade demanded, turning his gaze accusingly upon Rifle.

The heavily tattooed man shrugged. "No idea. Don't see why you're so up in arms about it. It doesn't matter who's in control of the KG, we're never going to be considered good, law-abiding citizens."

Blade sighed. "But  _Erol_  in control of the guard? Is Praxis out of his head?"

Rifle shrugged again. "Probably. But Erol, huh?" He stood up and held out a hand. "Best give that here, Blade. Cutlass is going to want to see it."

"Hang on," Blade said as he moved the newspaper further away from Rifle, "I want to finish reading it." He looked back at the article, saying, "What's it matter to Cutlass who's in charge anyway?"

"Ask him yourself."

The seventeen year old ignored the comment and quickly finished reading the section of paper. He glared as he thrust it at Rifle. "Here." Not a single detail given about what had happened to Torn, merely that he was gone and Erol was now taking his place.

As Rifle walked away, Blade leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. So, Erol was Commander now, was he? That was interesting. Not unexpected, given the rest of the Krimzon Guard, Erol was the natural choice to succeed Torn – he was easily the best qualified for the position. Particularly since Praxis had exterminated most of the older, more experienced men for fear they'd attempt to disrupt his rule.

Blade pursed his lips as he considered the current situation. The whole thing reeked of foul play. It was no secret that Erol wanted to be the best. All anyone had to do was look at his racing career to see that.

Kunai walked past and gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Feet off the table, Blade."

He stuck his tongue out at her, not moving. She didn't press the issue.

Blade sank back into his train of thought, brow furrowing in concentration. If only he could've had a better look at that article before Rifle had snatched it away.

The front legs of his chair slammed down to the floor with a bang as he sat up. His boot clicked softly on the floor on his way to retrieve a notepad from the counter. Grabbing a pen, he flipped quickly through the coil-bound sheets of paper to make sure that it was in fact  _his_  notepad, and then returned to the table to start scribbling down notes. He started with facts, what he  _knew_  about Erol; then moved on to perceptions.

Scythe brushed past and leaned over his shoulder, curious as to what the youngest gang member was up to. He left moments later muttering, "God, you're weird."

Blade pointedly ignored the comment. There was something extremely fishy about the recent change of power and he was going to figure out what it was. So intent was he on coming to the answer, he scarcely noticed Rifle's return.

"Well, Cutlass aint too pleased about this change," he said, setting the paper back on the table. "Course, it's only to be expected from  _him_. What  _you're_  so perturbed about, I'll never guess."

Blade glanced up. "I think Erol killed Torn."

"What? Nah, it was a raid what did him in, wasn't it?"

He blinked. "A raid? Where'd you get that idea?" Blade asked. There'd been nothing in that article about Torn dying in a raid.

Rifle pointed to a smaller article in the paper, practically hidden beneath an ad. Blade quickly read it and pulled a face.

"I don't buy it. Erol murdered him."

Rifle shook his head, lights gleaming every which way from the gem in his forehead. "And just what do you plan to do about it?"

Blade got to his feet. "You'll just have to wait and see." He looked at Rifle over his shoulder as he began to walk away. "He's not getting away with this. I'll make sure of  _that_."


	21. A Knife in the Dark

Scythe seized the black of Blade's shirt, yanking him back and away from the door with a snarl. "Where the bloody hell do you think you're going?"

Blade was calm as he replied. "After Erol."

"Are you  _out of your mind_?" Scythe demanded, "He's worse than the last guy!"

"Torn," Blade corrected automatically.

"Whatever. Who gives a damn? Point is he's worse. Or have you already forgotten what happened to Rapier?"

Blade paused. How could Scythe suggest that he'd already forgotten what had happened to Rapier? The man had practically been wiped from the face of the planet once he'd been caught by the KG. No one knew what exactly had happened to him, whether he was dead or alive, imprisoned or…whatever else. It gave Blade a secret joy to see just how badly the whole incident had rattled Scythe – a guilty joy, maybe – but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the feeling.

With a harsh flick of his wrist, Scythe gave Blade a backwards jerk. "Are you  _trying_  to ruin everything?" he demanded, "Why the hell's it matter to you anyway?"

Blade smacked Scythe's hand away, flashing him his middle finger. The older man's eyes narrowed and he grabbed Blade's wrist. "What the hell are you  _doing_?" he snarled, staring at the back of Blade's hand.

"I told you, I'm going after Erol." Blade smirked and clenched his fist. Dim light glinted off of the small, sharp knives sticking out over his knuckles. "I thought it might be a nice test for them. Unless you'd rather volunteer to be my guinea pig."

Scythe shoved his hand away. "You're in the Armoury for a reason. Kunai and Cutlass trust you. You don't know  _what_  Erol did last time he found us."

The younger man shrugged. "Can't be worse than what I'm going to do to  _him_." The next thing Blade knew, he'd been slammed back into the wall and, against his will, he let out a yelp. It had been a few years since he'd had  _that_  happen, and it was rather jarring to think that nothing much had changed in the past three years. "What the  _hell_ , Scythe?" The immediate response that he received was to be dragged forward by the front of his shirt.

"Stop trying to ruin everything. You already sold out Rapier, how do I know that you're not going to just run to Erol and tell him everything?"

Blade rolled his eyes. Ridiculous. "Yeah. That'd go over  _real_  well. 'Hi, Erol. I'm Blade; I'm one of the members of Haven's Armoury. You know, it's that gang you've got a weird vendetta against? Anyway, let me – for no particular reason – tell you everything there is to know about us?' Get a  _grip_ , man. I'm not stupid." He glared at Scythe. Hard. "And I had nothing to do with losing Rapier. He was stupid enough to get cocky."

He couldn't help flinching as a blade flicked out, just barely missing his nose and he found himself staring, cross-eyed, at Scythe's switchblade.

"You're lying."

Blade forced his gaze away from the knife and glared at Scythe. "Keep that dirty thing away from me." He winced ask the flat of the weapon was pressed against his cheek. It took an effort not to show any sign of the slight panic that the notion of getting cut with Scythe's knife sent coursing through his body. It was a one-way ticket to a serious infection.

"Make me."

Blade pulled a face and too a hold of Scythe's wrist, forcibly moving his hand away from him.

"I'm not going to come save your sorry ass when you get caught."

"Good. I won't need saving." Blade pushed the older man out of his way, drew his bandana up over his nose and mouth and headed for the door. He had an appointment with the KG commander to keep.

* * *

Torn flinched as the man's hand slapped him backwards across the face. It was the second backhand in as many minutes.

"KG spies, no doubt," he snarled, glaring over his shoulder at the other man in the room.

"I dunno. If they were spies, they surely would have put some effort into trying to hide those tattoos. Doesn't make for the best undercover operation to be openly showing allegiance to the other side."

"He already told you, we're AWOL," Allin begged, his voice cracking with desperation. The former sergeant had been on the verge of tears since the underground members had forcibly removed his prosthetic to check it for bugs. In the few minutes he and Torn had been left alone, Allin had barely managed to coherently inform the other defector that he was already getting phantom pains from his lost limb. Torn hadn't exactly been overflowing with sympathy.

"Quiet you!"

Allin shrank back into his seat, head bowed, quivering slightly.

"A likely story," the first man hissed, pressing the barrel of his gun to the underside of Torn's chin. "Two Krimzon Guards  _conveniently_  ditch at the same time and just  _happen_  to find us? I don't buy it."

Torn fixed him with a level, icy stare. "Why would I lie? C'mon, Matro, don't be stupid here. I'm pretty damn valuable."

The man called Matro glared at him. "To the KG maybe. I don't know why I haven't blasted your brains out yet."

Allin didn't manage to hold back a terrified shriek. "No!"

The man stationed next to Allin grabbed him in a headlock and put his pistol to the young man's temple. "One more word out of you and it'll be your last. Get it?"

It was all Allin could do to nod, his eyes squeezed shut tight.

Matro nodded approvingly and then rounded on Torn once more. "Why should we believe you?" he demanded.

"Because you're going to need one hell of a tactician to get this thing past Erol."

"What do you know about Erol and the KG?"

Torn shot a glance towards Allin and the tears that had appeared on the former sergeant's face – whether from pain or fear or some combination of the two, he couldn't tell.

"Everything."

* * *

Blade pressed further back against the shadowed wall, chest heaving, grimacing beneath the bandana. He forced himself to hold as still as possible as he waited for the guards to move. Sure, he could've taken them out if he tried, but the risk of, missing or tripping the alarm wasn't worth it – yet.

He listened in on their muffled conversation for a few moments. Nothing interesting.

"The area's secure."

It brought a smile to Blade's face. The area was secure – with  _him_  around? As if.

"I'm moving on to the next sector."

Blade tensed as there was the typical clanking of armoured guards moving and he pressed even further up against the wall, as though he could melt through it if he tried hard enough. The fingers of his right hand ran slowly over the knuckles of his left, feeling the small blades he had there. He couldn't deny that he was nervous. He wasn't allowed to be here, nor was he supposed to be. If he screwed up, he'd be in serious trouble with both the Krimzon Guard and Haven's Armoury, just one would be bad enough.

A small gasp escaped him as one of the guards he'd overheard passed him, close enough to touch – had he been so inclined. For a single terrified moment, Blade was sure that the man had heard him, but he brushed past without a single hint that he was aware of the teen's presence.

Blade slowly let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and peered around the corner. The other guard was nowhere in sight. Taking it as a good sign, Blade slipped around the corner and crept to the door. It was locked. He needed a pass to get inside. A curse hissed between his lips as he looked around. Now one of those guards would have been exceptionally handy to have around.

There was the sound of boots on concrete and he darted for the nearest pool of shadow to take cover in. A guard was heading towards the door. Blade crouched, hand on one of his various knifes, contemplating his luck and debating what his next move should be. He could let the guard open the door and sneak in after, or he could knock him out, steal his pass and open the door himself.

Both options had risk. With his free hand, Blade tugged his bandana up a little higher – just in case.

If he opted to try and neutralize the approaching guard, there  _was_  the chance that he might miss. If he screwed up and tripped Haven's high alert, where would that leave him? Trapped between a rock and hard place, that's where. He took a deep breath and released the knife he'd been holding. Waiting was the better option.

The doors rumbled open as the guard inserted his pass into the lock and Blade, still lurking in the shadows, braced himself for the charge.

He barely made it. Trying sneak and sprint at the same time was a lot harder than he'd anticipated; he hadn't expected doing something so contradictory would be particularly easy. All the same, his time in the Armoury had taught him a thing or two about how to deal with covert operations.

Blade skulked through the hallways, doing his best to avoid anyone he came across; it wasn't exactly as though he could easily pass himself off as part of the KG. Given the time of night, however, most KG were on patrols or were asleep, so avoiding everyone proved not to be too difficult. For the first time since Blade had taken it upon himself to set out on this private mission, he considered what exactly starting at such a late hour meant. Erol was probably already in his quarters, possibly asleep. At least, if he was a normal person, that should be the case. Just a nice easy kill…

The sound of footsteps coming up behind him pulled Blade from his train of thought and he slipped into a nearby alcove to wait until the threat of being seen had passed.

"And you say this program will help my men in our assaults against the nest? I don't know, Veger, I'm no eco tech, but isn't that  _dangerous_?"

The voice made the hair on the back of Blade's neck stand on end and he chanced a quick look down the hall. Indeed, his quarry had just turned the corner. Erol looked more tired than he'd ever seen him, and yet he seemed energized by…something. The man he was with – presumably Veger – was tall and balding with a decidedly unpleasant feel about him. Blade grimaced and ducked back into his hiding place, cursing his luck. Had Erol been alone it would have been the perfect time for an ambush.

"Well, there's always the side eff-"

"Did you see something?" Erol interrupted. "Just over there, a person."

Blade's blood ran cold, his hear seized in his chest and he ever so slowly placed his hands over the bandanna on his face, desperate to stifle even the slightest sound that might further raise Erol's suspicions. He didn't even have to look to know that Erol was pointing directly at his hiding place.

"Um…No." Veger's tone sounded confused and slightly concerned. "Commander, when was the last time you slept?"

Blade kept his eyes shut tight as they drew closer to his hiding place.  _Please think he's hallucinating. Please think he's hallucinating…_

Erol snorted. "Sleep? Who the hell needs sleep? No, there's no time for such things. Every second the underground continues to plot against us. Every minute is valuable time that can be better spent figuring out what to do about the metalheads." The pair passed the alcove, Erol looking pointedly at Veger. "No. Sleep is one thing  _I_  can certainly do without.  _I_  will have this city under control within the  _month_. You mark my words, Veger.  _The month_."

Their voices faded and Blade sank slowly to the ground. Too close. He'd have to be more careful if he was hoping to catch Erol with his guard down. It seemed that this wouldn't be as simple as he'd hoped.

* * *

"It's clean."

"You're sure?" Matro asked anxiously. He cast a horrified look back over at Allin who had curled up and was sobbing quietly, having succumbed to his phantom pain some time ago.

Torn was staring up at the ceiling as though there was something extremely interesting there to watch. He'd given up on trying to calm Allin and was beginning to serious question his judgement in allowing him to come along. Not that he could have likely stopped him anyway.

"Positive. Blake was extremely thorough."

"Fine. Go give it back to him then."

The man walked towards the pair of defectors and dropped something large and metallic in front of Allin. It landed with a heavy clang.

Torn looked over as Allin glanced up. An expression of delight crossed Allin's face and he grabbed the prosthetic, pulling the artificial limb towards him. His joy didn't last long as he rolled up his pant leg to reveal the cybernetic implant there. His mouth was set in a grim line as he checked over his leg for any sign of damage, clearly finding it no worse for wear, Allin jammed it back into its socket. He let out shriek of pain that even made Torn flinch. Matro and his companion exchanged vaguely concerned looks.

Clenching his teeth, the former sergeant locked the limb in place once more. He turned to Torn and gave him a shaky grin. "I really  _hate_  doing that. Hurts like a bitch."

"I bet."

"At least I know my nerves are still all connected." Allin sighed and began to busy himself with a thorough exam of his leg, flexing the knee, ankle, and toes to ensure that nothing had been messed up or short-circuited.

Matro nodded curtly. "Right, Halen, you keep watch on these two. I'll be back." He pointed a menacing finger at Torn. "And  _you_  had better have some serious answers for me when I get back."

* * *

Blade grabbed the guard and covered his nose and mouth with a hand, twisting his neck sharply. The man fell limp and the mercenary dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. Blade stepped over his body and headed straight towards the computer console. He gazed at screens and was quick to locate Erol.

The new commander was in the detention centre with Veger, pacing excitedly around a large, sinister-looking machine. Veger – Blade noted with a touch of amusement – looked thoroughly exasperated with the redhead. He almost wished that there was an audio feet, but that simply would have been too much to hope for. He'd gotten what he'd wanted though.

Erol wasn't in his quarters. Yet. That meant that he – Blade – still had time to get there. He double checked the location of Erol's rooms and committed the directions to memory. Smirking, he slipped back out of the security room, starting off in the direction of his prey's quarters.

He skulked quickly through the hallways and found the door to Erol's apartment. After a good ten minutes of false starts and failed attempts, Blade finally managed to pick the lock and get inside. Unnoticed by Blade, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor from where it had been wedged between the door and the frame. He didn't quite manage to suppress a shiver as he stepped inside; the apartment was quite cool compared to the warmth of the hallway and he was sorely tempted to turn the heat up a couple degrees. Blade forced the notion from his mind. There were more important things than comfort.

There was a moment of contemplation, as he wondered where best to wait for his prey and decided that he'd try the office. The computer was on, the humming of its fan loud in the silence of the apartment. Casting a quick look back at the door to convince himself that Erol wasn't about to barge in, Blade snatched up one of the various flash drives scattered across the desk and stuck it into the port on the computer tower. The monitor flickered to life, displaying the open files that Erol had last been using.

Blade snickered. "Idiot." Surely Erol would have known better than to leave classified files open on his computer, but apparently not. Then again, he likely didn't expect that anyone would break into his rooms…

He skimmed quickly over the information on the screen; there appeared to be a virtual blueprint of the machine he'd seen Erol and Veger examining. Fascinating. He selected the flash drive and noted that it was, rather conveniently, empty. Grinning, Blade selected all of the open files and copied them to the memory device. Cutlass would probably find them extremely interesting – he'd always seemed to make a habit out of knowing exactly what Erol was up to.

The assassin pocketed the flash drive once he had the files and flicked the monitor off. It wasn't a moment too soon. A split second later he heard the sound of the apartment door opening.

He ducked away with his back against the wall nearest the office door to wait for Erol's impending arrival. What he didn't expect to hear was the familiar sound of a magazine being loaded into a pistol and the hammer being cocked. A distinctly accented voice spoke in a dangerous hiss, so quiet that Blade could barely make out the soft words.

"Alright you bastard…bring it on."

Erol knew someone was here. How could it be possible? How? It was a petrifying thought. And it made no sense.

Blade's hand dropped to one of his own handguns in anticipation of a firefight. He cocked the hammer as silently as he could and pushed his shoulders harder against the wall raising the weapon to eye level. Blood pounded through his ears as he considered the implications of attempting to take on the military commander in a showdown. Erol  _was_  known to be a rather good marksman. Hopefully he'd still have some small element of surprise working in his favour. He was beginning to think that he wouldn't manage to beat his target without it.

The few moments it took Erol to near the office felt like an eternity to Blade. His fingers tensed nervously on the trigger of his gun and he wanted nothing more than to turn the corner and fire, but he forced himself to wait. Not only would that be sloppy work, it would simply be stupid. The muffled thump from the other side of the wall told him that the KG commander had just taken up a stance similar to his.

After the agony of waiting, what happened next came in a wild blur. Erol whipped around the corner and spied Blade, who ducked just in time to have the first shot do nothing more than graze the top of his head. There was no time to recover from the shock of nearly being shot; he grabbed Erol around the knees and pulled back with all his might, yanking the older man's feet out from under him and sending the redhead to the floor. Blade's attempt to pin the commander was quickly thwarted by a swift kick to the face that left him vaguely dazed. The spiked toes of Erol's boot dragged down Blade's cheek, drawing blood and neatly slicing away his bandana.

The shock on Erol's face earned Blade a few seconds he wouldn't have otherwise had. He wasted no time in straddling Erol's hips. He raised his gun and brought it down to land a heavy blow on the commander's left cheekbone. The force of the strike seemed to jar Erol from his shock and he dislodged Blade by driving his hips upwards and rolling to the side.

Blade toppled to the floor after receiving Erol's left elbow to the face and was horrified to find the redhead leering down at him in a way most befitting a psychopathic mass murderer. He tried to push himself up into at least a crouch, but both his wrists were abruptly trapped by Erol slamming his feet down onto them. Blade's grip on his gun broke and with a movement that was almost too fast to follow, Erol had kicked the weapon away and driven his foot back down, effectively pinning Blade's right hand to the floor once more.

"You're not going anywhere," Erol said as he pointed his pistol at Blade's forehead. He smirked, cocking the gun once more.

Blade stared levelly up at him, almost daring Erol to pull the trigger. His golden eyes glinted maliciously before the young gang member kicked him hard in the groin sending Erol reeling with a high yelp. Blade sprang to his feet with a bark of laughter. He looked at Erol's exposed back, his mind automatically calculating where his hit needed to be. Blade jammed his elbow deep in between a pair of Erol's vertebrae and was rewarded when the KG crumpled to his knees.

Barely moving from Erol, Blade reached out and grabbed his gun, which he then holstered. He dropped to his knees behind the downed commander and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking backwards. An arm wrapped around Erol's neck and he placed the back of his hand to the older man's cheek, pressing the tiny blades hard into his flesh.

"I win."

"Not yet, you don't," Erol snarled.

"Oh yeah?" Blade dragged his hand down, slicing four cuts open along the commander's cheek, fingers trailing down towards his neck.

There was a click and Blade found himself staring down the barrel of Erol's handgun. The commander was aiming blind over his shoulder, and unfortunately – sight or not – he seemed to have darn good aim. "It was a nice fight, Ripp, but it ends now."

Blade ducked again, but the expected shot never came. Instead, an alarm sounded throughout the entire room. He released Erol and shot to his feet, looking around wildly. Where had _that_  come from? What had tripped it?

The redhead laughed, sending a chill through Blade's bones. "I don't normally call back up, but considering the trouble your brother gave me, I thought the situation warranted more _extreme_  measures." He staggered to his feet. "That that doesn't mean that I can't finish you off right now."

Blade backed away. This was not good. Not good at all. It wasn't until he found himself trapped in the corner between the window and the wall that he realized this too was part of Erol's plan.

"I've already announced you dead you know. Let's say we keep you that way."

Pale blue eyes darted frantically around the office as Blade became fully aware of a dull roar over the din of the alarm. The sound of a large group of people running towards the commander's apartment; more KG troops were coming. Even if he killed Erol now, he'd still have to fight his way past all of the reinforcements that he'd summoned. He whipped out his gun again and pointed it at Erol's chest.

"So you're going to shoot me, are you?" Erol's eyes were laughing. "Seems I over estimated you," he drawled, tapping a finger of his free hand against his shoulder guard. A shoulder guard which was connected to his…chest plate. "Go ahead. Try it. The ricochet might do my dirty work for me."

The sound of the boots in the hallway was getting louder, the men drawing nearer. They'd be at Erol's quarters any second. He had to do something. If he didn't, there was a good chance he'd be finding out firsthand what Rapier had gone through before he'd disappeared. Blade crossed his arms over his chest, leaving the gun pointing towards the window on his right. A quick shot shattered the pane of glass and – liking his chances with gravity better than those with the guards – he vaulted out the makeshift escape.

* * *

"We ran both your files through our database," Matro said slowly. He pointed at Torn. " _You_  are apparently dead. And you, boy," this time he pointed at Allin, "Are in a shitload of trouble if you ever try to go back."

Allin's eyes widened. "I am?"

"You'd better believe it. You're lucky I'm not inclined in the slightest to help the Guard. Erol's put a bounty on your head. A big one."

Allin gulped.

Torn sighed. "Sorry, kid."

The young man took a deep breath, letting it out in an annoyed huff. "My mom is going to  _kill_ me."

Despite the obvious effort on both Halen and Matro's part, they burst out laughing. Even Torn was hard pressed to stifle a snort.

"I think your mother is the least of your worries."

Once the laughter had died down, Matro cleared his throat. "If you two want to prove that you're on our side, you can start by telling us when the next assault's planned."

"But that's classified!" Allin protested. Three pairs of eyes turned to him, one confused, the other two suddenly extremely suspicious. He turned a funny colour of red and looked down. "Meaning that they never told me anything like that until right before it happened…"

"Nice save," Halen muttered.

Matro glared hard at the young man.

Allin's green gaze rose and he glared accusingly back at him. "You went through my file! I'm just a sergeant!  _Was_  just a sergeant."

"Now you're just a wanted criminal," Torn said.

"Shut up," Allin hissed.

Matro rolled his eyes. " _You_ ," he said, glaring at Allin, "might not know anything, but  _he'll_  definitely know." He nodded at Torn.

The former commander shrugged. "I wouldn't be so sure. Erol's a lunatic. Which means he's probably formulating his own insane scheme that better suits what he wants done to this organization. Which is probably total oblivion, he's kind of 'all or nothing.' I can guarantee that all my plans would be too lenient for his taste." Torn got up and stretched. "I'd say your best bet is to temporarily disband, get all of your operatives into safe houses and scout out a new base."

Matro glared at him. Not that such an occurrence was anything new.

"Hey, up to you. But I knew exactly where you guys were. The KG  _has_  your location and Erol's nothing if not impatient."

Halen fixed Matro with a pointed look. "Do you think we should suggest it to  _him_?"

Matro nodded. "I'll go." He shot another glare at Torn. "You'd better keep talking if you want to keep your sorry ass safe, officially dead or not, I don't like having a Krimzon Commander in my hideout." The look he gave Allin was no less scathing. "And you,  _rookie_ , need to decide exactly where your loyalties lie." With that he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Allin stuck his tongue out at the closed door before turning to Halen. "So who shoved what uncomfortable object up Matro's ass?"

Halen shook his head. "Try not to mind him too much. He's just touchy. His wife's been dead since that slum explosion a few years ago – wrong place, wrong time, and his daughter was killed by one of Tapani's first underground patrol groups." He looked at the two ex-soldiers, Torn barely managed not to make a face at the mention of the slum incident. "Anyway, if we really need a new hideout, where would you suggest we go?"

Torn mulled it over for a moment before saying, "Dead Town," at the same time as Allin said, "The slums."

Halen arched an eyebrow at the youth. "The slums?"

Allin shrugged. "Sure, why not? Plenty of civvies there are unhappy with things the way they are, so it won't attract as much attention as if you were to go to some other part of the city. And it's not crawling with metalheads and other freaky creepers."

Halen seemed to consider this. "I'll have to suggest those to Matro."

* * *

Blade had never been particularly fond of heights and that, he discovered, was not exactly helpful when one was hanging onto a flagpole for dear life with the ground multiple storeys below. It was, in a word, terrifying. He'd made the mistake of looking down shortly after grabbing onto the flagpole and had nearly lost his grip from the fright it had given him.

No, he definitely did  _not_  like heights.

"Keep it together, Blade…" he muttered to himself. "C'mon, you're tougher than this. It's just a little three storey drop if you slip. You probably won't die. Immediately." He gave his head a tiny shake to clear it. "Oh, so not helping."

He forced himself to focus instead on the pole. His hands were getting tired, not to mention sore, and unless he found another way to hold on, he'd be making best friends with the ground very soon. He shifted. One of his hands slipped and gave way. An involuntary cry escaped him; his remaining hand gripped the cold metal so hard he was sure he would leave dents in it. After a moment of struggle, he managed to get his second hand back on the flagpole. A little more reorientation and he succeeded in hooking one of his elbows over the pole. From there he was able to get one of his legs up and pull himself into a sitting position, straddling the cold metal. It was extremely uncomfortable and he couldn't help shifting his weight to his tailbone to take the pressure off his groin. It still hurt, but was much more tolerable, and was certainly better than dangling helplessly. Now he just needed a way to get down; one that didn't involve praying desperately that the ground would be a lot softer than it looked.

It was then that an idea struck him. He ran his hands along the bottom of the pole to get a feel for the rope there. There probably wasn't enough there to get him all the way down, but it would be a start.

Five minutes later, Blade had clambered down the rope, preferring not to think about what could potentially happen if the rope gave way or he slipped. He reached the end of the rope, closed his eyes, and let go. The drop was shorter than he'd anticipated and he landed on the ground with a thump. After making sure that he'd sustain no further injuries other than what he'd gotten from Erol – save perhaps a few potential bruises – Blade got up, dusted himself off and started back towards the Armoury's haunt.

* * *

Blade walked in the door and made a beeline for Scythe, ignoring all the strange looks he was getting from the other gang members. He even dared to ignore Cutlass's demand to know where he'd gone and just what he'd been up to.

He grabbed Scythe by the shoulder and whipped him around so they were standing nose to nose. Blade jabbed at the thick red stripe across Scythe's face.

"Get me in touch with the man who did this."


	22. Base Camp

Blade's fingernails bit deep into his palms as the needle hit the skin of his left eyelid a second time. He forced himself to remain quiet, no yelps, no whimpers, nothing. He'd wanted this. He wasn't going to let himself be perceived as a weakling. Who cared that there was no one in the room save himself and the artist? To let himself show pain would be to express it in front of two people too many. He was tougher than this; he wouldn't give his pain the satisfaction of crying out.

He let out a mental sigh as the needle was removed. Almost done. All that was left was the tips of his ears. Now that he understood the pain of tattooing, it was no wonder to him why Rifle had been accumulating his metalhead tattoo so slowly – to have something that covered every centimetre of skin done all in one go… It would be nothing shy of torture. It also clarified why Torn's tattoo had been done all at once though; it was a good way to weed out the weak ones early on.

He inhaled sharply as the artist started on his ears and the man chuckled. "Sensitive, kiddo?"

"A bit," he admitted.

"Well, not to worry. I'm almost done. You're pretty bold getting this design, kid."

"I'm pretty bold doing a lot of the stupid things I do. This is pretty mild far as my dumb ideas go."

The tattoo artist's eyebrows shot up. "Regretting it already?" he asked.

"Not at all. What do you say to hurrying this up?"

"You're weird."

Blade shrugged slightly, making a noncommittal noise in reply. Like he cared if a man he'd probably never see again thought he was 'weird.' The artist grunted once and resumed his work on Blade's ear. It was about half an hour later that the inking was complete and Blade's smirk was broad when he saw his reflection in the mirror that the artist held up for him.

"Perfect."

"Well, as long as you're happy with it. Now…" the artist said, setting the mirror down. "You  _didn't_  get this from me. Capiche?"

Blade nodded quickly. "Got it. No idea who you are. Never seen you. You're a tattooist?"

The man laughed. "Exactly. Now, these are gonna scab on you,  _do not_  pick at them or else you'll get patchy. Keep 'em clean; it's important.  _Any_  sign of infection and you come right back here."

"Even though I was never here?"

The artist grinned at him. "Right."

The gang member grinned right back as he sat up, wincing visibly. "So, I can go?"

"Sure thing. Wire me the funds when you get back." He jabbed a thumb at the corner of the room. "Clothes are where you left 'em."

Blade nodded a quick thanks and retrieved his clothes, dressing quickly. He was halfway out the door when a thought struck him. He turned around and asked, "My eyebrows, they  _will_ grow back, right?"

The tattoo artist chuckled. "Not to worry kid," he said, "They'll grow back in. I don't deal in permanent hair removal."

"You don't deal in tattoos either."

This time the man let out a full-out laugh. "Get goin,' you troublemaker."

Blade grinned, passed off a two fingered salute at the man and headed out the door. He quickly messaged Rifle to request a pick up. There was no way he was about to walk back to the hideout in his current condition. All he could possibly want at that moment was some painkillers and somewhere soft to sleep off the initial inking pain.

* * *

Torn leaned over the map that had been spread out on the table before him and jabbed a finger at a few houses on the east side of Haven. "These four here," he said.

Matro stared at him. "The KG knows about those? But I thought…"

Torn shook his head. "We – they – know. Believe me. I was actually coming up with a plan of attack at the time that I was removed from service."

The underground leader rounded on him. "And that was?" he demanded.

Torn rolled his eyes. "Look, even if I  _was_  going to tell you what my plan was – which I don't really intend to – there is  _no way in hell_  that Erol would be using one of  _my_  plans. Not even if it  _was_  complete." Matro didn't look at all convinced. "He's got more of Tapani's style anyway."

Matro's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Sounds like a KG lie to me. How do you know so much about Erol anyway?"

Again, the ex-commander rolled his eyes. "I already told you."

"A likely story," Matro huffed. "Growing up alongside one of most deranged men of our time. You couldn't have come up with something slightly more convincing?"

"I didn't  _come up with that_ ," Torn snarled. He straightened from the table, placing a hand on his hip. "You know, if you  _want_  me to give you information, you're going to have to start _believing_  what I tell you at some point."

The comment earned him a disgusted snort from Matro.

There was a creak and the door to the hideout opened suddenly, causing both men inside to reach instinctively for their weapons – Torn's expression turning to one of annoyance as he remembered that they still didn't trust him enough to arm him yet. It was irritating to say the least.

Halen walked in, Allin in tow. The ex-sergeant brushed past Matro and Torn, heading straight for one of the other rooms in the hideout without so much as a hello.

"Well?" Matro demanded, "What'd you find?"

Halen shrugged nonchalantly. "There's a dead end street that looks like there could be some promise to it. The kid was messing around and found a door hidden behind a wall. We took a quick look around. The place hasn't seen any action for a few years, at least, it seems that way. There's dust everywhere. It looks pretty well abandoned. I don't reckon anyone knows it's even there anymore."

Once he'd finished speaking, both he and Matro turned their gazes to Torn as though daring him to point to the correct location on the map and say 'You mean here? The KG has known about that for  _ages_.' Whoever Matro had gone to talk to the day that Torn and Allin had first arrived seemed to have taken better to the suggestion of a new hideout in the slums as opposed to scouting out a location in Dead Town. Since then, Matro had been organizing scout parties to hunt out suitable location.

"Well?" Matro looked at Torn sceptically. "Find it."

Torn brushed some of the extra files off of the map and immediately began scouring the slums for a dead end. A dead end that had obviously had some form of notable activity at some point… Anywhere that had been within the blast radius of the explosion three years previously was certainly out of the question, too new.

Allin emerged from the bathroom he'd disappeared into, scrubbing his face on a towel. He walked over to the table and peered curiously over Torn's shoulder. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but thought better of it at the look he got from Halen.

"So…I take it he hasn't found it yet?" he asked hopefully. When Allin received no reply he moved around the table to stand next to Halen. "Can I give him a hint?"

"No."

Allin sighed at the harsh tone in Matro's voice. He yelped as Halen elbowed him in the ribs and tapped the young defector's forehead. "You've missed a load of it."

"What? Oh dammit." He let out a small groan of irritation and resumed scrubbing his face on the towel, leaving long flesh coloured smudges on the cloth. "I hate makeup."

"You realize that there's an easy solution to that," Torn muttered, not even bothering to look up from the map.

Allin lowered the towel and watched him for a minute. "There is?"

"Yep." He ran a single finger down one of the streets in the slums that had seen a lot of activity. No dead end.

"And that  _is_?" the young man demanded impatiently.

"Don't go out." Torn tapped his finger against a dead end street. "This one."

Matro leaned over and examined the location that Torn had just identified. "Hale, this the place?"

There was a bark of laughter from Halen. "Not even close. The place we found is right…" he searched the map for a moment before managing to locate the correct street and corresponding dead end, "here. Anything?"

Torn hadn't even noticed that one. He shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"So…we've actually found a new place?" Allin asked hopefully.

Matro crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll have to send someone else out to scout the area and see if they can turn anything else up."

Halen pulled a face, rolling his at the leader. "Sure, whatever you think is best." He grabbed Allin by the arm, dragging him away from the table. "C'mon, kid, you're failing miserably at getting that stuff off."

* * *

To say that Cutlass was displeased would have been akin to calling a hurricane 'a bit breezy.'

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, dragging Blade forward by his shirt collar. The older man jabbed angrily at the fresh tattoo and Blade was unable to entirely suppress a whimper as tears stung his eyes.

"You're trying my patience, Blade," he snarled, "You owe us your life, or had you forgotten that little tidbit?"

Blade refused to look at the man. It was true. He  _did_  owe them a lot.

"And you!" Cutlass suddenly whipped around to point at Scythe. "You helped him do this!"

Scythe held his hands out in a hopeless gesture of apology. "Boss, I had no idea what he was planning. He just told me that he wanted to talk to the man who did my ink. Honest."

The leader pulled a face, causing his scar to pucker unpleasantly down his face. "Get out of my sight."

Scythe nodded and retreated, casting a glare at Blade. "You're  _dead_ ," he snarled before slipping out the door.

The door slammed shut leaving Blade and Cutlass alone in the room. The teen crossed his arms over his chest, struggling not to cringe, and glared at Cutlass, trying to make himself look a lot more confident than he felt. It gave him a slight feeling of empowerment to know that there was nothing Cutlass could do about his actions now. But it was only a small one, and he knew that if loyalties were going to be drawn into question, he'd be on his own in a heartbeat.

"What the hell were you  _thinking_?" Cutlass snapped a second time. There was a fury in his eyes that Blade had never seen there before and he couldn't help wondering if it was something more than his new tattoos bothering the leader. "Of all people to emulate,  _why_  Erol?"

"I'm not emulating him."

"No? Then what the hell is this?" Cutlass seized the tip of Blade's right ear and squeezed it tight between his thumb and forefinger.

Unable to help himself, Blade cried out once. But only once. "It's a statement."

"Of what."

"Not of. Against."

"What?"

Blade whimpered, wishing that Cutlass would stop putting so much pressure on the fresh tattoo, but knew better than to ask. "Against the Krimzon Guard. It's a statement against the Krimzon Guard."

His ear was released and he found himself abruptly thrust back into the wall. "Are you mad?" Cutlass snarled. "Do you have  _any_  idea what happened last time Erol found us? Do you have any idea how hard he's going to hunt for us now that you've done this?"

Blade tried to shove Cutlass away. It was a rather futile effort; Cutlass was too strong, Blade too physically drained from his tattooing to manage it. "What are you so worried about? It'll be  _me_  he's after."

Cutlass shook his head. "You don't understand. Erol's just looking for a reason to destroy us. You've just given him that reason.  _Stupid boy_."

Was that a flicker of fear in Cutlass's voice? Surely it couldn't be. It had to be impossible.

"What's your deal with him anyway?"

A snort. "It goes  _way_  back. Too long of a story."

Blade sighed. He hadn't expected much of an answer, but not getting even a tidbit was altogether too underwhelming. "Really don't get what you all find so terrifying about him. He's just  _Erol_."

Cutlass's eyes narrowed and he gave Blade a sharp look that was clearly questioning his intelligence. " _Just Erol_?" He ran a hand back over his short cropped hair. "I suppose that explains your  _serious_  lack of judgement the other night."

Blade snapped his fingers. "Oh right! About that," he began searching through his pockets, "I picked up something for you from his apartment, thought you might like knowing what the KG has him doing right now." He finally located and fished out the flash drive. He tossed it to the gang leader, grinning.

"What's this?"

"His new project. I think. Swiped the files from his computer. And I saw him examining the…whatever it is on there when I broke into the security room."

Cutlass stared. "You did  _what_?"

"Nicked the files before he got back."

"You've got some serious guts, Blade."

The teenager smirked. "I've learned that's one of the job requirements."

* * *

The door to the underground base hissed open and a pair of figures stepped inside– a man and a woman. Matro looked up and quickly rose to greet them. Halen glanced over, waved, and then turned back to the game of chess he was having with Allin in an attempt to work on the former guard's logic and strategy. Allin was still losing – badly.

Torn sighed as he watched Matro exchange words with the newcomers, ignoring the wary looks that the man was giving him over Matro's shoulder; they still didn't trust him. Not that he really cared. If he had been in their position – and it wasn't as if that wasn't what he was trying to do – he'd be pretty suspicious himself. He couldn't deny that it was getting irritating though.

"So, Vanni, what did you find out?" Matro asked.

The woman shrugged. "Looks like an old gang hideout to be honest. Doesn't it Blake?"

The man next to her nodded enthusiastically. His hands moved in what looked like some sort of spasm. The woman shook her head at him.

"Details later."

Matro didn't appear pleased by the information. "Any sign whose it was?"

Vanni shook her head again. "No. Any markers were taken. It's not really in the best condition. There were signs of some sort of fight."

The underground leader shot a furious look at Torn. "You said the Guard didn't know about that place!"

Torn crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Matro with a highly unamused look. Again with the whole accusation deal, the way they carried on, someone would think that he'd already stabbed the whole organization in the back once.

"No one said it was KG action," Vanni said, capturing Matro's attention again. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was likely the work of a rival gang, or someone hired by one. It just didn't fit the bill for Guard work."

The man called Blake nodded again, clearly endorsing Vanni's assessment of the situation.

"I think it could work. I mean, it'll take a little bit of work and clearing up, but it shouldn't be too hard to convert into a new base. And we can't be real picky at the moment. Not if he," here she flicked her head in Torn's direction, "says that there's likely to be an assault on this place soon."

Matro still didn't look completely convinced.

"Look, if the only way you're going to satisfy yourself that it's a good place is to go look for yourself, then go. Take a look at it. Take Blake or Hale and go check it out," Vanni said.

Torn couldn't quite hide the small smirk that had formed. At least he wasn't the only one who found Matro's overly cautious attitude annoying.

"Or, heck, take the Krimzon git."

It didn't take Matro's over the shoulder glare at him for Torn to realize that Vanni had meant him and not Allin. Why they'd started trusting Allin so quickly was still quite they mystery to him. Likely it had to do with the rank he'd been at. He, Torn, had been the commander, in charge of crushing the resistance; Allin had been a sergeant, a willing lackey.

"Not in a thousand years," Matro snapped, turning back to Vanni.

She shrugged. "Well, up to you. He'll have to see it sometime though. Unless you intend to leave him tied up in here for when the commander's assault team arrives so he can tell them all our secrets."

Matro paled.

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

There was a tense and awkward silence, which was broken only by Halen's proclamation of "Checkmate."

Allin swore. "I really don't think I'm cut out for this game."

* * *

In the end, Matro actually  _did_  end up bringing Torn with him. The underground members had plastered makeup over his tattoos, something that Torn was – understandably – none too thrilled about. Matro had even given him a pistol, just in case they ran into trouble.

It felt like it had been ages since Torn had been out in the street without armour and it was definitely weird to not have the civilians giving him the horrified looks reserved for members of the guard. He kept his eyes down, just in case one of the patrols managed to recognize him. He knew they wouldn't think twice about turning him over to Praxis and Erol. Even though it pained him to act it, his best bet lay in pretending to be one of Haven's average beaten down citizens.

Keeping the pistol hidden inside his jacket, Torn followed Matro sullenly towards the area that hid the potential new base. The rough, uneven cobblestone of the slums was jarringly familiar. It was the first time he'd been in the area since before his first raid on the metalhead nest, before the explosion...

"Hurry it up!" Matro shouted to him from up ahead.

Torn rolled his eyes and took a few jogging steps to catch up. Whatever had happened in the past, now was not the time to be dwelling on it.

Matro barely waited for Torn to catch up before setting off at his brisk pace once more. It didn't take them long to arrive at the dead end that had been described, and the underground leader, despite his earlier attitude, appeared to be getting excited.

He came to a stop in front of what appeared to be a large grey wall and looked at Torn. "How do we get in?"

The former KG shrugged and slipped his hand inside his jacket to feel the gun there. It was oddly comforting to have, even if it really wouldn't get him far against all of the Krimzon guards if the alarm were to go off. He looked around the side street sceptically as though preparing for a group of spies to materialize out of nowhere and assault them. He would've rather had his knife handy, but that was – to his knowledge – still stashed somewhere in Erol's possession. What a waste of a fine weapon.

A grinding sound jolted him from this train of thought and Torn turned to find that Matro had figured out the mechanism to make the wall move. He arched half of his hairless brow, looking mildly impressed.

For a moment a rare grin lit up Matro's face before he beckoned Torn forward. "After you."

* * *

"Hey, boss!"

The call roused Blade and his eyes opened a fraction and he watched Cutlass sweep across the room to see what Scythe wanted. He'd been sleeping for most of the day, but during his snatches of consciousness he'd learned that Cutlass had been growing more and more involved in the information that had been swiped from Erol's computer.

"What, Scythe?"

"We've got movement at the old centre."

"What? There can't be!"

Blade couldn't make out either man's expression. He didn't need to in order to tell that this news disturbed Cutlass.

"We sealed it after-!"

"I know, boss, but someone's in there."

Silence settled over the room. Blade sat up slowly from his position on the couch, not the smartest move of the day considering the fresh state of his tattoos, but one he was willing to risk.

Scythe spun in his chair to gaze up at his leader, "So what're we gonna do?"

Cutlass drummed his fingers on the desk, gnawing his lip.

"Nothing. We don't need it."

Scythe gaped at him, "But you said-"

"I know what I said. This is what I'm saying now. Drop it, Scythe. That place is no good anymore. It's been found, you know that."

"But you told us to keep tabs on..."

Blade settled back down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. The conversation wasn't as interesting as he'd hoped. Just talking about an old gang hideout, it hardly seemed worth causing him to wake up over. Old territory, old news, nothing that concerned him, just Scythe doing some kissing up it seemed.

He ran his hands along the back of his neck, feeling the raised, jagged line of scar tissue there. He propped himself back up and looked over at Cutlass and Scythe who were now engaged in low conversation.

This wasn't his life. This wasn't how he'd wanted to end up. At that moment, with a gut wrenching pang, Blade realized he was actually  _glad_  Torn was dead. Now Torn would never see what he'd been reduced to. He wasn't sure he'd have ever been able to live it down if Torn had somehow managed to find out.

It was with these troubled thoughts that Blade drifted back to sleep.

 


	23. New Plan

Torn glanced around, shooting hurried looks over his shoulder as he skulked through the streets of Haven. No one seemed to be following him. Good. Matro would kill him if he inadvertently alerted any of the Krimzon Guards as to the location of the new underground hideout. As would most of the other underground members, come to think of it. Then again, _Matro_  would probably kill him if he knew what Torn was up to, but that was normal enough. The ex-commander shot another glance over his shoulder, wishing he still had the gun that had been loaned to him.  _He'd_  at least feel a lot better about sneaking out if he could have armed himself to do it.

He doubled back and took a different route, just in case he  _was_  being tailed – from either party. He wouldn't have put it past Matro to have someone shadowing him, nor would it have surprised him if Erol had put a watch on everyone in the city who even slightly resembled him. He crept into an alleyway, gravel crunching under his feet as he approached the specified meeting place. A small smirk formed about his lips when he saw her. Her back was to him; he didn't need to see her face to tell that she was just as uncomfortable with this scenario as he was. Her body practically radiated ill ease. Taking a breath, he snuck up behind her, one arm snaking around her neck to cover her mouth, the other slithering around her waist.

As he'd expected, she froze momentarily; then her elbow was driven into his abdomen hard, right food slamming down onto his. Torn barely had time to duck in order to avoid what would have been a swift blow to the nose as he staggered back, winded.

Ashelin turned to him, gun out and cocked. Torn straightened and brushed down the front of his shirt, attempting to look nonchalant.

Her eyes widened slightly and the weapon was lowered. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

A harsh bark of laughter began the reply. "Double check it was you. I thought that was obvious enough. A lesser woman would have screamed."

Ashelin rolled her eyes and slipped the gun back into its holster on her thigh. "You're absolutely infuriating sometimes."

He managed to grin at this. "You know I wouldn't be half as interesting if I wasn't."

She sighed and looked at him, shaking her head.

"So, since neither of us is supposed to be here, what do you want?"

Ashelin sighed and pulled out a curved dagger. "I had to bring you this. And let you know, I'm on your side here."

Torn took the knife from her and slid it from the sheath, examining his prized weapon. It was exactly as he'd left it, not a single new mark on the blade. He didn't look up as he spoke. "You sure that's wise to say out in the open like that?"

"Well since you refused to let me meet you at-"

The sound of the knife being slammed back into the sheath cut her off. Torn held up a hand. "You know why I couldn't do that. If I brought you anywhere near that place, I'd be ripped apart  _so_  fast. And that's not even saying what they'd do to you."

"You know you can trust me, Torn."

He didn't manage to hide his sceptical look. There had been a time when he'd have trusted Erol too, and  _he_  wasn't the baron's only child.

Ashelin shot him a glare. "Honestly. I think they're making you paranoid."

Torn shrugged. "At the moment, a little extra caution doesn't exactly hurt."

"What difference does it make? If I side with you, I'm out of the Guard."

He shook his head. "No."

"No?"

"No. You'll be safer in the Guard. Trust me on that."

Ashelin crossed her arms. "Ever since I was a girl, I've thought that is place needed someone to fix it. And now that that's what you're trying to do, I'm not allowed to  _help_? You expect me to just stand by and watch? You know I'm not that kind of person."

"Well, no, but…"

"Torn, I can look after myself. I don't need you to try and protect me," she said. Her expression was one of utmost determination. There'd be no swaying her.

Torn sighed, recognizing the signs that he was fighting a losing battle. "Matro would never allow it. Two KG in the base is two too many for him."

She still looked thoroughly unconvinced. "As true as that might be, I know you don't mean it." She put a hand on his arm. "I said I'm with you, and I meant it. Whether you like it or not."

He shook his head. "There has to be some way for you to stay where you are."

Surprisingly, Ashelin grinned. "There is. Or had you not considered this? You could use someone on the inside. I can keep you posted on everything, let you know every move Erol makes."

"If they catch you…"

"They won't."

* * *

Unseen by either Torn or Ashelin, a figure lurked on the nearby rooftop of a building, carefully concealed by shadows cast by the taller building next to it. Sharp eyes watched as the pair went their separate ways, gaze lingering on Torn.

The figure waited, immobile as the former KG commander passed the building upon which they sat perched. There was no mistaking it, the resemblance was striking.

It was only once they were sure that Torn was gone that they dared move. The moonlight fell across the figure's face and the part that wasn't obscured by a black mask was smirking.

* * *

Blade surfaced, spitting out dirty water and choking in air. Of all places for a solo mission… He looked up fearfully at the sound of boots on the boardwalk over his head and took a deep breath, preparing to dive again. What the extra patrols of the water slums meant was anyone's guess, but it seemed more than likely that the additional KG forces had been a key deciding factor in Cutlass assigning him the job.

Deciding that he might as well chance it, Blade swam out from under the boardwalk to check for his target. No sign of him yet. He ducked back under the rickety walkway, eyes turned upwards for any sign of his target.

His communicator buzzed and Blade pulled it out, marvelling that it still worked after spending nearly an hour underwater. There was a crackle of static and Scythe's voice sounded through the device.

"Got him yet?"

"No." Blade sighed. "If I apologize again to Cutlass about the whole tattoo thing, can I come back anyway?"

"Hell no. You cold or something?" Scythe sneered.

Blade repressed a shiver, despite the fact that Scythe couldn't see him. "No. I just don't want to spend the whole night here. God only knows what's in this water." Here he couldn't help the involuntary shudder, not wanting to think about how much of it he'd already gotten in his mouth.

"Should've thought of that sooner."

"Look, if you're not going to be helpful, what the hell did you contact me for?"

"Distract you."

"From  _what_?"

There was a pause, and Blade was sure he could hear Scythe smirking at him. "From the fact that your man just walked over your position a couple minutes ago. Good luck catching him."

Blade swore, flung the small device into the water and dove into the murky depths once more. He cursed Scythe, and the KG on the path above, and himself for getting distracted so easily. He surfaced again and scanned the cracks in the planks above him, checking for any sign of the spike-toed boots worn by the KG. It was clear – for the moment. Gripping the edge of the walkway, Blade hauled himself out of the water, the planks of wood creaking and groaning under his weight. He looked around as though hoping there would still be some sign of his target; he hadn't managed to miss an assault yet – save the botched attack on Erol – and damn if Scythe was going to cause his first failure.

* * *

It was midnight when Blade was forced to concede defeat. He returned to the hideout empty handed for the first time with no excuse for how he had managed to wind up with nothing to show for his efforts. Cutlass was far from pleased, a point he'd made clear to the point as to make crystal jealous. In fact, he'd taken it upon himself to try and repress Blade's 'rebellious tendencies.'

Blade sat on his bed, running a hand through his still-damp hair. How had he let Scythe trick him like that? If only he hadn't listened to him. As much as he hated what they forced him to do, the idea of having missed a target… And Cutlass's reaction… He was practically grounded and was to be supervised anytime he left the hideout – at least until he had proven that he had learned better control.

It was nothing short of infuriating.

He let out a cry of frustration and got up again. He'd make Scythe pay for what he'd done. Someday, somehow… This wasn't over.

* * *

Allin looked at Torn, shock obvious on his face. "You were talking to  _who_? You're the one who's always reminding  _me_  to be careful and you do this? Hypocrite."

"It's not like that. She's on our side. It'll help to have someone on the inside."

Allin sighed, "Sir, I've never been one to question you, but..." he glanced around nervously, making sure that no one else had entered the room while they'd been talking, "she's the baron's daughter."

"I know. Just trust me on this. You've trusted me with other stuff. I know what I'm doing."

"If Matro finds out..."

Torn shook his head. "He won't."

"But-"

Torn's eyes narrowed, "Do not lecture me, Allin! I know what I'm doing."

Allin pulled a face looking – for lack of a better term – betrayed. He got to his feet, brushed off his knees and walked out of the room.

* * *

Blade looked up as the door to his room opened. "Oh, am I-?" his voice died. Suspended between Cutlass and Scythe, dripping blood, was Kunai. He felt his jaw drop. The masked assassin hadn't been seen around their camp for days, a usual enough occurrence, but she'd never come back  _hurt_  before and certainly never this badly. "What happened to her?"

Cutlass shrugged the shoulder that wasn't supporting the assassin. "Don't really know. Somehow," he grunted and adjusted his hold on Kunai, "she got back here on her own. Managed to ask for you."

Blade barely held back the comment that she couldn't really ask for anyone else because he was the  _only_  one who knew what he was doing. Instead, he assumed a businesslike attitude. "Put her on the floor.  _Gently_." He fixed Cutlass with a sharp look. "You, go get my med kit. Scythe, go get me a bowl of hot water and a load of facecloths. This is going to be close." Close, if not completely impossible. How much blood had she lost? How long had she been like this? What had happened?

It was unnerving how quickly the other two complied. Blade knelt next to Kunai and automatically began peeling off her outer layers of clothing. Within seconds his hands were sticky with partially congealed blood. He patted her cheeks in an attempt to rouse her, leaving rusty red streaks on her skin and – presumably – her mask. "C'mon, Kunai... Don't do this to me. Stay awake, stay with me. Come on."

Blade grabbed one of his knives and sliced through Kunai's shirt, tearing it off to expose the skin underneath. A brief flicker of hesitation and he tugged off her mask as well. He grabbed one of the facecloths Scythe had brought and used it to clean her face.

Kunai's lips twitched and her eyes made the barest flicker. She jumped and gasped slightly as Blade pressed another cloth to one of the gaping wounds in her stomach. "Relax. It's just me." He grimaced slightly at the sight of the blood soaking quickly into the damp cloth, staining the fabric red.

"Don't bother, Blade," she hissed between clenched teeth. "It'll be a waste." Kunai coughed and flecks of blood appeared on her lips.

"Don't say that."

Kunai grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly firm grasp. "You don't want to do this for the rest of your life..." something bubbled in the back of her throat. "Get out before it's too late."

Blade let out a wry laugh. "What's too late anyway?"

"Get out while you still can..." she shuddered and her grip loosened considerably. " _Ripp_."

He froze. "That life's behind me," he snarled, glaring at her through slit eyes.

"Not-" she coughed violently. More blood. "Not as far behind as you like to hope. I didn't save you just to have you throw your life away."

He continued to glare. "You did  _not_  seriously haul yourself back here, in this state,  _just_  to tell  _me that_ , did you?"

Her smirk said more than words could've hoped to at that point. Her fingers slackened completely against his wrist and her hand dropped. The spark vanished from her eyes. Blade stared at her.

For a moment it was all he could do to stare at her body. "Kunai!" Had she really...? "Absolutely  _insane_. You stupid woman..." his words fell upon ears now deaf to the living world. He got up and swore, then paced around the room for a few minutes. He whipped around and punched the wall as hard as he could. Where his anger had come from, he couldn't say, but it dissipated quickly.

Blade sighed and rubbed his bruised knuckles, looking at Kunai. "How do I know?" he asked. "What's too late? What made you think it wasn't too late for me?" He sank to the floor and rubbed a hand across his face. "Dammit, Kunai. Why couldn't you have said this sooner?" He slammed his head back against the wall in frustration. "What did you  _mean_?"

It wasn't as though he could just walk out of Haven's Armoury and return to the life he'd had before. No home, no family, an incomplete education...

"You couldn't have stayed alive for another thirty seconds to explain yourself, could you?"

He sighed and moved next to Kunai, reaching out to close her eyes. He was about to pick her up and carry her out of his room, but paused to study her. It was the first time he'd seen her without her mask. Her face was age lined with wrinkles around her mouth and ones at her eyes that he'd never noticed before. She looked old enough to be his mother. Why had he never noticed before?

For the first time he found himself wondering about her. How had she ended up in the Armoury? How long had she been there? What had her life been like before she'd become involved with gang work? All the things he'd never considered. Kunai had always just  _been there_.

It was too late now. Too late to ask the questions that now burned. He swore and got up. Might as well go tell Cutlass that she was gone.

* * *

"We need to move people to new safe houses."

Allin groaned. "Seriously? I mean, not that all of this running around and panicking isn't  _fascinatingly productive_  and all, but shouldn't we be trying to figure out how to get at Praxis?"

All eyes in the room turned to him. Ordinarily it would've been enough to make the youngster wither and avert his gaze, mumbling some form of apology – but this time he held his ground, green eyes alight with something akin to mischief.

He slammed his hand down on the table. "Look, I'm just saying that this is a seriously lacking underground movement. You're not going to get anywhere if you don't take a risk or two."

Matro glared at him. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Allin pounded the table again. "Maybe I don't, but I can tell you one thing, Erol's not sitting around the barracks saying 'How can I do this without losing anyone?' He's going to do _whatever_  it takes to get rid of us. It doesn't take a genius to know that he's willing to risk everything. And I think I can speak for most of the people here when I say that  _I want to know when we're actually going to do something significant_."

Halen, standing on Matro's right, gestured at Allin to shut up.

Matro turned his glare to Torn. "You put him up to this, didn't you? Figured if you had  _him_  say it, I'd be more likely to listen?"

Torn crossed his arms over his chest. "I did no such thing." Allin had scarcely spoken to him since he'd informed the boy about Ashelin. That wasn't to say that he wasn't pleased by Allin's sudden change in attitude. It was good to see that he'd gotten some of his fire back.

Before the underground leader could reply, Allin was talking again. "You think I can't figure this out on my own? Have you even paid attention to what's going on? You're too busy hunting for traitors in your own ranks that you can't even focus on the big picture."

The room fell dead silent.

Allin glared at Matro. "All I'm saying is we can keep screwing around and doing  _squat_  or we can take a chance make an actual statement and say to Praxis 'Hey, we're here and you're not going to get rid of us as easily as you think.' Even if it's blown to hell, we'll have at least  _tried._  And even the KG won't be able to stop the rumours among the civvies." He looked imploringly around at the other gathered underground members. "I can't be the only one who feels this way."

Halen shuffled awkwardly, looking from Matro to Allin and back; Blake turned his face towards the table, pretending to study one of the maps; Vanni suddenly found the cracks in the ceiling fascinating. Torn gave Allin a near imperceptible nod of approval, the former sergeant's lips twitched into something that could be potentially be called a smile. Matro glared daggers at Allin.

"...I agree."

It was Halen's turn to have all eyes in the room on him and he took a step back from Matro. "You've got us playing a game of cat and mouse. We just run and hide at the first sign of danger."

Blake nodded emphatically and put his hand on Vanni's. The woman looked at him and he flicked his head at Halen then Allin. She nodded. "Matro... Allin  _does_  have a point. I'm with Halen on this, so's Blake. We need to rethink our strategy."

"So you're all against me." Matro fixed Torn in his gaze, "What about  _you_?" he snarled. "You've been pretty damn quiet."

Torn arched a non-eyebrow at the underground leader. "You're kidding. I actually have to  _tell_  you? I thought we need to take up the offensive weeks ago."

Matro glared at everyone. "You all have no idea what we're up against."

Allin and Torn exchanged glances.

"No idea?  _Us_?" Allin asked of his former commander. "You'd think he missed all the ink."

Torn raised a hand to shush him. "What we are up against," he said quietly, "is a tyrannical baron, an unpredictable lunatic in charge of the army, and legions of pretty well mindless soldiers prepared to die for either of them at a moment's notice. While we consist of a pair of KG defectors, some guy who I've never heard utter a single word, a woman who more or less translates for him, a coward with a thirst for vengeance and..." Torn gestured at Halen, "Whatever you can be described as." He turned his cool blue gaze on Matro. "That about sum it up?" There were, of course, other members of the underground, but from what Torn had been able to surmise, it was this small group that was the keystone to the organization.

Matro was seething. "Well..." he huffed, "Since everyone else now seems to be an absolute  _expert_ , what do you propose we do?"

"Hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast," Allin said, punching a fist into his hand for emphasis.

Torn shook his head. "Bad idea. The KG is familiar with the typical thunder and lightning manoeuvres of the metalheads. Erol will know how to deal with that."

If anything, this information seemed to further infuriate Matro. "And just  _what_  do you propose we do about all of the agents that need to be moved?" he demanded.

"Move them, obviously," Torn said, "We need all the people we can get. Not to mention a proper discovery could wreak havoc on us."

"But, sir-" Allin began.

Torn silenced him again. "But nothing. We need the people.  _But_  what we really need is something that can be used against Praxis – without fail. Something that we can use to rally support away from him. And gain more people to  _our_  side."

"Well that sounds all well and good, but...where are we going to find something like that? More importantly,  _what's_  going to work better than absolute terror?" Halen asked. "There's not really much we can offer."

Blake nudged Vanni in the ribs with his elbow to get her attention. He motioned with his fingers and fixed her with a pointed look. She nodded.

"Hope."

Allin unsuccessfully repressed a snort. Vanni glared at him.

"Sorry, it just sounds funny. And that's one thing we're not exactly teeming with."

Torn looked thoughtful, sure the solution was nearly staring him right in the face, he just had to figure out what it was.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Halen coughed. "Perhaps," he ventured, "We should focus on the task at hand...?"

* * *

The door to his room opened and Blade looked up, wondering if his temporary quarantine had ended. Rifle stepped in, his skullgem glowing eerily in the dim light.

"Blade, Cutlass wants you to give him a hand with something. And bring some of your knives."

"Something like what?"

"Interrogation. I think you'll be good at it."

Blade got to his feet, arching an eyebrow in confusion. "We interrogate people?"

Rifle shrugged. "He used to get Kunai to assist with it, but with her gone, he figures either you or Scythe could fit the bill as his assistant. Consider this your chance to impress him."

"So, why don't you and Musket help out with interrogations?"

The comment earned him a hearty slap on the back. "That's what I like about you, Blade," Rifle said. "You ask stupid questions."

* * *


	24. Indomitable Spirit

Interrogation, Blade quickly decided, was not a duty that he would ever look forward to. Unlike Scythe, who appeared to revel in providing his assistance to Cutlass, the idea of slowly maiming someone made Blade's stomach turn. At least with an assassination it was over quickly. After the first instance of it, the mere command to assist with interrogation was enough to send waves of nausea through him.

This time would be no different.

From the moment Cutlass had thrust the young girl into his arms, he'd known that it would only end badly. His orders had only confirmed it. He'd accepted them stoically, refusing to look at the child.

They always gave him the kids. Always. Precision was needed when children were involved, deliberate movements that Scythe simply didn't have the finesse for. It was bad enough when Cutlass expected him to harm adults, but children… It made the job infinitely worse. How Kunai had done it, he'd never know.

Cutlass shouldered the nearest door open, motioning for Blade to follow. The little girl whimpered and buried her face in his shoulder. Blade swallowed nervously. Why him? With a little luck he wouldn't  _actually_  have to do anything. He glanced up, just in time to see his leader hold up a hand to stop him just inside the door way. The girl burrowed closer, a soft whine escaping her, and Blade adjusted his hold to stroke her blonde hair gently. His stomach twisted itself into a knot as he surveyed the room.

Sitting, tied to a chair was a man. He glared at Cutlass, oblivious to Blade's presence. The gang leader moved forward, stepping towards the man, sneering.

"You had better start coming up with some answers."

Given the current situation, the man appeared strangely calm. He looked at Cutlass, daring him. Had it been possible, Blade would have smacked his face into his hand. This was not going to be pretty, he knew it.

"Blade, bring her out."

The assassin moved out from the shadow of the doorway and into the man's line of sight. The girl clung tighter to him. He wished she wouldn't.

"Agalia!" The man attempted to surge forward, but his bindings restrained him.

The girl raised her head and twisted in Blade's grasp. He nearly let go of her. "Papa!" she cried, straining to reach her father. "Papa!"

Blade pulled her back towards him, tightening his grip, expression impassive. There was nothing different about this. It didn't matter that she couldn't be older than six, didn't matter that she looked just like Leeta… Inconsequential. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.  _It didn't matter._

He bit his lower lip, near imperceptibly, and his fingers dug into the girl where he held her, causing her to yelp.

The man struggled harder against his bonds. "Leave her alone! Agalia!"

Cutlass grinned. "Got answers for me  _now_?"

If the man had been calm before, he was terrified now, fighting and struggling against his bond, staring at Blade and his daughter.

The girl struggled feebly in Blade's arms, still reaching for her father. "Papa!"

Blade's expression remained unreadable, but internally he was reeling, practically begging that the man would start telling Cutlass what he wanted. It seemed, unfortunately, that the man was now unable to focus on anything but his daughter.

"Blade."

 _Dammit._  "Yes, sir." He adjusted his hold on the girl to draw a small triangular throwing knife from his belt. He pressed the flat of the weapon to the girl's cheek, dragging it slowly over her soft flesh.

She jerked and the metal sliced under the first few layers of skin.

 _Well shit_. That had been unintentional.

It appeared to take a moment for the girl to register the pain from the cut, then she was crying in pain and Blade inwardly cringed, watching as her tears trailed down her face to mingle with the trickle of blood.

If only she'd… If only she'd  _what_? Trusted him?  _Him,_  Blade, a complete stranger? Of course.  _All_  young children automatically trusted the knife wielding man that they had just been unceremoniously thrust into the arms of. He gave his head a slight shake at his own stupidity. He'd have to be more careful with her.

"You monster! Let her go! Agalia!"

The girl squirmed again, sobbing for her father, reaching for him, trying to break away from Blade.

Cutlass grinned sadistically. "Do you want her back in one piece? Or would you prefer various little ones?" he asked, tone calm and flat, walking over to the bound man. "It makes no difference to me, but then again, she isn't  _my_  daughter." He flicked his head in Blade's direction. "And  _he'll_  do whatever I tell him to."

Blade's grip subconsciously tightened on the girl again, but his expression didn't waver for an instant.

"She's such a pretty little thing. Surely you'd prefer to keep her that way."

Silence settled in the room. No sound but the little girl, bawling in Blade's arms. He adjusted his grip on her again, pressing his knife firmly to her cheek once more, silently praying that he wouldn't have to use it again.

"Blade."

This time  _he_  forced the cut. A second bloody line intersected the one that had already been made. He'd made it purposely shallow though, hopefully Cutlass wouldn't notice. Hopefully this would be over with soon…

* * *

Matro cast one last suspicious look at Torn and Allin before he pushed open the door. The two former guards exchanged glances. Matro, it seemed, had finally succumbed to the pressure to fully incorporate the two of them by allowing them to meet the mysterious 'shadow,' the man who was supposedly the true leader of the underground.

He was much shorter than Torn had anticipated. Much, much shorter. And older. And had a log on his head. Whatever he'd been expecting The Shadow to be, this certainly wasn't it. Things had just gotten undeniably bizarre.

"Greetings," he said, stepping forward to meet the two ex-soldiers, "I am the Shadow, but you can call me Samos."

Allin stared, not even making the attempt to mask it. Torn elbowed him in the ribs. The former sergeant winced and shot a quick glare at Torn, who merely shrugged.

"So," Samos continued, "you are the KG defectors I've been hearing so much about. You've really become quite the asset to our cause."

Again, Torn shrugged. "We do what we can." After a moment he dared to add, "Which isn't always a damn lot."

The comment drew a chuckle from Samos. "Yes," he said, "I've heard all about your complaints at the lack of action."

Allin grinned sheepishly.

"And while I agree with you, to some extent, now is not the time for rash action. One wrong move could easily be the ruin of us all."

Torn nodded once. " _But_ , the longer we wait, the longer we give the KG to prepare for any action we  _do_  take later."

"So what if we screw up one or two? It'll lure them into a false sense of security; they'll think they can crush us in one easy blow!" Allin added, in an attempt to be helpful. "We could let them think they've won!"

Matro was quick to round on him. "And  _who_ , pray tell, would be left to do anything else once the KG have had their way with us after the first loss?" Hm? Answer me that."

"I—well…" Allin visibly wilted. "Never mind."

The Shadow spread his hands, as though apologizing for how little control he could exert over the situation. "I understand your anxiety, but there is a time for action," he said, "and it is not yet that time."

* * *

He bit his lip slightly as he pressed his cheek further against the stock of the gun.  _This_  wasn't his area of expertise. Not even close. He was called Blade for a reason – he assumed. Sure, he wasn't a bad shot when he used pistols, but… that was different. This was a sniper rifle; total night and day. His grip on the rifle tightened and he shifted, adjusting the pressure on his stomach.

"Keep watch, kid."

"I know, I know," he hissed through clenched teeth, almost turning to look at the other man. "Why can't  _you_  just do this?"

Rifle shrugged. "Cutlass's orders. He says you need to broaden your weapon scope."

"And if I miss this shot…?"

"Don't."

He was painfully aware of the blood pounding in his chest, rushing through his ears, fingers. He took a breath to steady himself, chest pressing against the cool concrete of the balcony floor where he lay prone. They'd – he and Rifle – had been there for nearly an hour. He groaned, raising his head to look at his heavily tattooed companion.

"You  _really_  can't do this instead?"

It earned him a cuff on the back of the head. "A little patience wouldn't kill you, Blade. Focus, would ya? Kunai was doing recon on this lot when she got killed."

"Do you think that's why she died?" Blade asked.

Rifle snorted. "She died cause she was bleedin' and injured."

"But, I mean-"

" _Focus_."

Grudgingly, he lowered his head once more, resting against the cheek piece and readjusted the sight. Any minute now… It had to be soon. "I'm not a soldier," he muttered. "I don't like holding still this long."

"No, you're an assassin. And you'll do whatever it takes to finish the job. Understand?"

Blade sighed. "Yes, sir."

There. Movement. The wall slid away, revealing the hideout door. Blade felt his pulse speed up as his target stepped out. The man looked nervous. Blade couldn't stop his sudden smirk. This man certainly had good reason to be nervous, even if he didn't know it.

He eased the rifle into position, lining up the shot. He'd only get one chance at this.

A second, younger man joined his target outside the hideout and Blade felt a knot of anxiety form in his gut – no one had mentioned that Krimzon Guard would be involved. Now he _really_  had to make this shot count. He chanced a quick look at the newcomer. Young, off duty – judging by the lack of armour, short black hair and a distinctive smattering of blue lines all over his face… Something seemed familiar about him. But what exactly, Blade wasn't at all sure.

Blade forced the thought from his mind. That was something to think about later. For the moment, he had to focus on the task at hand. He realigned the crosshairs of the scope on his target. Three, two, one…

He squeezed his eyes shut as he fired.

* * *

The moment they heard the shot, everyone knew that something had gone wrong. Blake was on his feet in a moment, pulling Vanni up with him. He tugged fiercely on her arm, dragging her towards the door.

Halen shot a look at Torn, who shrugged and drew one of his pistols, stepping away from the table, heading in the direction of the hideout's exit. Halen nodded once, sharply, and followed suit.

What they found outside was a grisly sight. Matro lay dead in a crumpled heap, blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, on the ground, the entrance to the hideout, and Allin. The former sergeant was entirely white and pointed, horrified, at a balcony on the other side of the street.

"S-s-sniper," he managed to choke out with obvious effort.

Torn looked up just in time to see the sunlight glint off of…something. The gun scope maybe? It was hard to gauge at this distance.

Blake loaded an ammunition cartridge into his Vulcan Fury and aimed it up at the indicated balcony. He cast a look at Torn, and, getting no indication that he was not to open fire, proceeded to do so.

Once the clip had been emptied and the echoes of the Vulcan died, Torn began laying down orders. "Vanni, you and Allin get…Matro… back inside, we'll figure out what to do about him later. And get Allin cleaned up and then leave him alone. He's in shock so don't expect much from him. Then I want you to go tell the Shadow what's happened, follow whatever directions he gives you. Halen, Blake, you're with me. We're going after the bastard who did this."

No one argued.

* * *

Rifle had taken off the moment the shot rang out, leaving Blade to hastily disassemble and pack up the sniper rifle alone. He didn't look up once; particularly not once the rapid round of Vulcan ammo was fired at him from the street below. A few of the shots clipped his shoulders and arms leaving stinging cuts. As he bolted, two of the bullets found, and buried themselves in, the back of his left calf. Another dove in between the sixth and seventh ribs on his right side and he barely managed to stifle a cry of pain. He staggered and lurched into the balcony wall, gripping it in one hand for support, the other clutching at his ribcage.

Getting out of the building before he was caught was going to be seriously tricky now. He'd just ducked inside the door when the realization dawned on him of exactly where his nearest escape route had been. Slinging the strap of the sniper rifle's case over one shoulder he slipped back out on to the balcony, quickly scanning the ground below for any sign that he was about to be shot again. Spying no immediate threat, Blade gingerly climbed onto the rail of the balcony. Fighting against the burst of pain the action sent shooting through his wounded leg – and praying it wasn't about to give out on him – Blade braced himself against the side of the building as he prepared to scale the remaining distance to the roof. At least he was on the top floor.

He closed his eyes, doing his best to will away the pain – and fear – coursing through his body. He couldn't linger; it would be suicide. Opening his eyes and pointedly  _not_  looking at the ground, Blade took a deep breath and began to climb.

* * *

"Dammit, he's gone..." Halen hissed, glaring at the balcony. "You got him a few times though, Blake. Nice shooting," he said, gesturing to the blood splatter on the balcony floor.

Blake shrugged looking unimpressed, and then pointed at all of the bullets that hadn't found their way into Matro's killer.

Halen rolled his eyes. "Always about being perfect with you..." He looked at Torn. "Where do you suppose he escaped?"

The former Krimzon Guard tapped the barrel of his gun against the balcony railing and then pointed at the side of the building. Bloody hand prints and scuffed boot marks led towards the roof. "Up."

"Right." Halen moved as though he were preparing to follow the trail.

Torn put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. "I don't think so."

Halen scowled at him. "And why not, pray tell?"

Torn looked up at the roof. "I don't think this is someone we should try and hunt down ourselves. I'd guess they're an assassin. You want to go after a hired gun? Fine. Be my guest. But I'm not about to come save you when you get into trouble. Assassins are bad news."

Halen didn't look thoroughly convinced. "How do you know it was an assassin?"

"Left Allin. A bounty hunter would have wanted to bring  _him_  in. Assassins don't like to do stuff if they're not getting paid for it; don't kill the innocent and all that."

Blake nudged Halen in the arm and gestured at him. Halen scowled, clearly not as used to deciphering the other man as Vanni was. He then turned to Torn. "Blake wants to know why you know all that."

"You have to learn the difference at the academy. But if you want to go try and hunt down a trained killer…" Torn rapped his gun against the railing again, causing a metallic ring, "There's the shortest path to go after him."

For a moment Halen looked like he was about to protest but soon thought better of it.

Torn clapped him once on the shoulder. "We should get back, I don't like the idea of leaving that place too unattended."

* * *

"You have  _got_  to be kidding me."

Allin shrugged. "I don't see what the problem is. Everyone agrees you're best suited to it."

Torn rolled his eyes. "Fine." He got up, shrugging in defeat. "Clearly the universe wants me to be in charge."

"The Shadow wants you to be in charge."

The comment earned Allin a smack on the back of the head. "Don't get fresh with me, kid."

Allin grinned. "Well it's  _true_."

Torn crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. "Yeah." How he always managed to be put in a position of command was quite the mystery. "You'd think he'd choose Halen. Or Vanni or something. Not me."

The younger man pulled a face, nostrils flaring in irritation. "I apologize in advance for this..."

Torn was sent staggering by the blow. He turned, rubbing his cheek where Allin had punched him. "What the hell was  _that_  for?"

"Get a  _grip_. You're the best commanding officer I've ever served under, the best commander this city's seen in ages, and everyone around can see that you're  _obviously_ the best suited for a position of leadership. I would follow you to the depths of Hell itself if you asked me to."

Torn snorted. "You're insane. Has anyone ever told you that you're an  _idiot_?"

Allin grinned. "Many, many times. And I'll hear it loads more before I die. Maybe one day I'll believe it." He punched Torn playfully on the shoulder. "You know, if you don't want to be put in command all the time, you should stop taking charge every time things start to fall apart. Just sayin'."

In spite of himself, Torn actually grinned. "Shut up, rookie."

* * *

Blade flicked on the lighter and stuck the tweezers in the flame for about ten seconds, then pulled them out and shook them to cool the metal before passing them off to Musket. He was forced none too gently to the floor, sprawled out on his belly.

"You sure about this, Blade?" Musket asked.

"Yep. Do it." He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, shifting slightly. "And, Musket? Try not to dig around too much."

"Right."

Blade tensed as Musket placed a meaty hand on his bare back, holding him in place. He yelped as the bullet wound was suddenly invaded by the tweezers and cursed as Musket inadvertently nudged the shot further in. A whine escaped him, his hands clenched and unclenched desperately, fingernails scraping against the floor as he spasmed with pain. Another twist of the tweezers in his back and he fought to keep back a wail. He was almost certain that he heard Musket utter an apology and then the tweezers were being withdrawn, easing out of his back.

"Full shot?" he gasped.

Musket examined the small metal object he'd removed. "Yep. Vulcan. You sure you only took three hits?"

Blade sagged with relief. "Yes, thank god."

"Want me to get the other-?"

"No!" Blade sat up with surprising strength, knocking Musket's hands away. "I can get them myself. Thanks though." He snatched away the tweezers and got to his feet, grimacing as he put weight on his wounded leg. He limped over to a chair and sat down, rolling up his pant leg.

He swore as he pulled out the remaining bullets, hissing and grimacing all the while. On the plus side, neither of the bullets had split.

"Here." Musket said, bringing over a first aid kit.

Blade nodded his thanks and set about binding his wounds.

"You are one tough son of a bitch, you know that, Blade?"

The younger man glanced up. "I guess. Never really thought about it before. Just always did whatever it took to survive. The weak don't last, simple enough. Eat or be eaten, toughen up or get stomped into the dust." His blue eyes flashed dangerously. "I know which I'd rather have happen to me."

* * *

The door to the underground rolled away and two figures stepped inside. Both Allin and Torn looked up from the maps they were poring over. It took them a full minute to register exactly  _what_  they were seeing.

"Holy  _shit_. Is that...Is that...? Where did...? How...?" Allin stammered pointing at the newcomers with an expression that was as beyond words as he was. He looked at Torn for help and found none. The new underground leader was staring, aghast, at who had followed Samos into the hideout.

"How the hell did you find  _him_?"

The old man shrugged half-heartedly. "He was just wandering around on his own. I took the chance to bring him here."

The boy looked as he did the day that the coup had been staged; his blue eyes were wide, staring at his new and unfamiliar surroundings. His small hand was curled tightly around Samos' thick fingers. The crocadog that had accompanied him during the uproar of the coup was trotting pleased circles around the boy, growling occasionally at Samos when the opportunity presented itself.

"You seriously just found  _Damas' son wandering around_  on his own?"

Allin pulled a face. "That seems awfully...convenient. He wasn't being watched or something was he?"

Samos shook his head. "Not from what I could tell."

Allin squatted down and held out his hands, coaxing the kid over. The boy looked up at Samos before letting go of his hand and tentatively heading over to the former sergeant. The black haired man grinned and scooped him up. "Heya, kiddo."

Torn bit his lip. It didn't sit right. "That kid's way too valuable for the KG to use as bait; even Erol at his worst would know that. But he'd have been under lock and key and been guarded... I don't get it."

"How'd you escape, little guy?" Allin asked, poking the kid. The boy merely grinned and poked him back. The crocadog seemed to take exception to Allin's action and tried to bite him in his left leg. The ex-guard failed to notice the attempted mauling of his prosthetic shin, engrossed as he was in the sudden poke-war that had erupted between himself and the kid.

Torn watched the Allin and the kid interact for a few moments before turning to Samos once more. "I don't like this. But we need to protect that kid, no matter what. We should assign him a guard."

The Shadow smiled. "I think I know just the person."

Torn arched a nonexistent eyebrow.

Samos chuckled. "Come now, Torn, you don't honestly think you know  _everyone_  involved in our organization, do you?"

"Well I figured after meeting  _you_  that had to be pretty well everyone."

"Not quite. We've got a few more agents than that."

Torn shrugged. "Alright. So who's going to look after the kid?"

Allin glanced up. "I could do it. I don't mind. Between me and—Oy!" He'd finally noticed the crocadog's fruitless assault and paused to shake the dog free from his leg. "You're wrecking my pants. Anyway," he said turning his attention back to Torn, "Between me and his mutt here, no one will touch him."

Torn shook his head. "I need you available."

The Shadow also shook his head, giving Allin an amused look. "No, no. I was thinking more along the lines of Kor. He's a good man, but can't do much that you young ones can manage."

Torn shrugged and looked over at Allin and the kid. The boy seemed perfectly content with the current arrangement, but he  _did_  need Allin. "I think I'd like to meet this Kor first." That kid was just too important to leave without completely trustworthy supervision, particularly when the circumstances surrounding his appearance were still so suspect.

"Of course."

Torn nodded, satisfied with this answer. For the moment.

"One more thing."

"What?" Torn asked.

"I'm afraid to say, you'll need to go meet with one of Matro's old contacts. He's got connections that have been advantageous to us in the past. It would be best if you were to notify him of this change."

Torn couldn't quite hide a sigh. Who knew Matro had actually done some  _useful_  stuff? "Fine. Who's the guy?"

"The owner of the Hip Hog Saloon, it's by the-"

Torn gestured for Samos to shut up. "I'm familiar with the place." And he wasn't looking forward to paying a visit to it, or its disgusting proprietor, but it didn't seem like he had much of a choice. "Allin, you want to come with me, or am I grabbing Halen for back up?"

The former sergeant practically dropped Damas' son in his eagerness to come.

* * *

"Perfect. I've been hoping for a chance to renegotiate my salary," the gang lord said, rubbing his fat fingers together greedily. "Information's not cheap, ey?"

Torn refused to back down. "You get the same as you did with Matro."

"You think you're pretty clever, ey? Well I'll tell you, you and your pesky little  _underground_  won't last a week without getting information." The grotesque man leered at Torn. "I get a lot of Krimzon Guards in here, it'd be a shame if I happened to let them know about you and your little group, wouldn't it? I imagine the commander would pay handsomely for that sort of-"

"Alright, alright. What kind of damage is this going to do?"

Krew drummed his fingers against one of the rolls of fat that made up his vast stomach. "Just trifles really... Say an additional fifty percent?"

Torn balked. "Fifteen."

"You insult me. Forty-five."

"Twenty."

"Thirty-five and I forget that I saw  _him_  in here." Krew pointed at Allin – who was flirting with the pretty, blonde barmaid. "The bounty on him alone would bring in far more than you're willing to offer. Why you underground types just don't sell your wanted men is a great mystery. You could get a lot of money, ey?"

Torn sighed. It was still higher than he hoped, but his gut was telling him not to press for anything lower. "Fine. Thirty-five. And you never saw Allin." He only hoped he could make it happen.

Krew leered at him again. "Always a pleasure."

"Yeah. Whatever. Allin, come on. We're leaving."

Allin looked over, sighed, murmured something rather apologetic to the barmaid, and went to follow Torn.

* * *

"Hey, Blade."

The assassin looked up from where he lay on the couch. "Mm? What is it, Cutlass?"

"Since you'll be out of commission for the next while, why don't you make yourself useful and update our hit list?"

Blade wrinkled his nose. "And if I don't want to...?"

"It wasn't a question."

"I figured you'd say that." He sighed and sat up, wincing slightly. "Let's see the damage."

Cutlass unceremoniously threw three things on to the coffee table – a large stack of papers, the device that the Armoury kept the most up-to-date digital copy of their targets on, and a red permanent marker.

"Have fun."

As Cutlass walked away, Blade stuck his tongue out at him, muttering, "Have fun my ass."

The work wasn't particularly difficult, but it was also not particularly interesting. Blade skimmed through the digital list and compared it to the hard copy, drawing large red Xs through the pictures of terminated targets. There were a lot. If he hadn't been so desensitized to the whole business, he probably would have been disgusted. But it was just business, dirty work, but someone had to do it.

He gave his head a shake. When had  _that_  become a normal way of thinking for him?  _Just business_? What was wrong with him? These were  _people_ , people that had been killed. He paused and leafed back through the pile he'd made of the now dead people. How many faces did he recognize there? How many had he been personally responsible for?

He stopped counting after twenty-three.

Shuddering with self-loathing, Blade shoved the stack of papers away and returned to the task of crossing out those who had been eliminated. Lost in the monotony of the job, he nearly marked off someone still living. Marker poised in the top left corner of the picture, ready to strike the first line of the X, Blade froze. He'd seen that face before. Recently too. He scowled at the picture, tapping the back end of the marker against the man's face.

"Where have I seen you...?"

Black hair, KG tattoos and defiant green eyes, it wasn't exactly a common combination. He scanned through the information. There was a bounty – hefty one too, but only if he was brought in alive. It was then that something in the description caught his eye.  _Suspected underground fugitive._

"Underground...?"

Blade looked back at the picture, again trying to place him. He knew that he'd seen him before. It clicked. The dead end alleyway when he'd been with Rifle... Well, that certainly explained how he'd seemed so familiar back then too. Did that mean that had been part of the underground? It seemed possible. What did that mean about the man that he'd killed? Had he been associated with the underground movement as well? Had he just helped crush the resistance to Praxis' rule? Did that mean he'd just done  _Erol's_  dirty work?

There were too many questions that he didn't have a clear answer for. At least it explained why he'd seemed familiar back when Blade had spied him in the alley. It was a small comfort though.

He looked again at the image of the KG soldier, and then glanced up, looking around. With two quick strokes, Blade crossed out his face. He quickly changed the status on the digital copy as well. There. Terminated.

"Whoever you are," he whispered, "you owe me. Fix this place up and we'll call it even."

* * *

Torn stared at Ashelin. "It was  _you_?" he asked, stunned.

She grinned and leaned against the side of the alleyway. "I wouldn't say it was really  _my_  doing. Consider it taking advantage of an opportunity. There was no one around..." She shrugged nonchalantly. "You should've seen the look on Veger's face when he found out that the kid was gone though. Priceless."

The underground leader gaped. "Do you have  _any_  idea what you've done?"

Ashelin laughed. "Helped deliver the only thing that gives you a shot at beating my father?" She shrugged again. "It was a gamble, sure, but it paid off. You wound up with the kid, Veger has no idea where he went, and no one's any the wiser."

"You're mental."

"I think more people would question your sanity."

"Ashelin..." Torn sighed. "You shouldn't be doing stuff like that. It's dangerous."

She crossed her arms and looked at him. "You think I can't look after myself? That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"What? No. That's not what I meant."

Ashelin snorted. "Then what  _did_  you mean? Cause it certainly sounded that way to me." She looked down her nose at him, her regal bearing showing through. "I'm a perfectly capable adult, Torn. I don't need you to protect me."

He opened his mouth to say...something, but Ashelin ploughed ahead.

"I'm aware of the risks, I don't need you telling me them over and over." She huffed once. "You've got your own problems to worry about, and I've got mine." Ashelin squeezed his shoulder once. "I should go before someone misses me."

Torn nodded numbly. "Yeah. Look after yourself."

A slight smile flickered around her features. "I will."

* * *

It was strange, being in control of the underground. Every other time Torn had assumed some sort of power, there had been such strict rules imposed on him, rules that he'd been so forced to work within the framework of that he almost wasn't sure what to do anymore without them. It was freedom and it was  _terrifying_. Samos had gathered together all of the underground members that he could so Torn could get an idea of just how big their force was.

It was bigger than he'd imagined. Not so overly massive that he couldn't figure out how in the world he hadn't known about the other members, but decently sized. There were the people he'd become familiar with, Halen, Vanni, Blake, Samos, and of course Allin. But there were others. Kor – the new guardian to the city's heir, and a few other people he'd come to recognize, but barely knew. There were others that he knew of, but weren't there, Ashelin, the barmaid at the Hip Hog, Onin... All things considered, it was a rather impressive force.

"You know what?" Torn said, looking at the amassed members of the underground, "I think we've actually got a shot at winning this thing. No... We're  _going_  to win this. We're going to set this right. Whatever the hell happens, we're winning."

For the first time since he'd left the guard and joined the underground, Torn could see something the expressions of the people that hadn't been there before: determination, as though for the first time they were realizing exactly how to reach their goal. For the first time, they were seeing that goal become a reality unfolding in their minds. They were going to reclaim control of the city, and nothing,  _nothing_ , was going to stop them.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This work is cross-posted from my Fanfiction.net account where it was originally posted starting in 2006 and was later revised in 2011.


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